


Can't Hold Us.

by fromunderthesun



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Boyfriends, Fluff and Angst, Football, Football | Soccer, M/M, OT5 Friendship, POV Multiple, Secretly an OT5, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-25
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2017-12-09 11:53:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 64,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/773899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromunderthesun/pseuds/fromunderthesun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn loves three things above all: his mates, football, and Liam Payne.</p><p>Alternatively, a high school football AU where Liam is the new kid that Zayn meets over the summer and they fall head over heels for each other because who wouldn't?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I: Beginning

It’s loud. The bass is thudding, a constant undercurrent to the conversations and laughter of all of the people crowded into the tiny flat. Zayn can feel it reverberating in his bones, acting as a second heartbeat, slightly off time from his own. The music itself is loud enough that you have to half-shout to be heard. It makes him want to dance, seems like it’s compelling him to actually, but the alcohol in his system isn’t quite enough to alleviate his nerves about doing so. Thank God. He has the feeling though that it’s going to inevitably happen because it always ends up happening once he’s had enough and, well, what else are parties for?

Zayn is here with some of his mates, crowded in to this little flat on the east side of the city looking for a bit of fun to rid the summer of some of its boredom. He’d be the last to say it, but school at least has the added bonus of bringing more interest to his days when they’re there. But he’d never admit to that. Louis and Harry aren’t here, for once, and he was a bit sad about it because they’re mad and always fun to have around when drinking, but he reckons it will be all right. Niall’s here with a handful of their other friends and he knows they’ll all still end up getting pissed and stumble to someone’s place as the sun threatens to make an appearance. It will be brilliant, same as always, just another sultry August night—though he’d be willing to bet Louis and Harry will be sorry they missed it. It’s the lot for those with other responsibilities though and he’d feel sorry for them if he wasn’t already buzzed.

He’s watching the competitive game of beer pong their American pals insisted on being played, a lager sweating condensation in his hand. There’s a bit of shouting and name-calling going on from both sides and all the onlookers are laughing along. Niall and Danny are on one side, playing two blokes Zayn certainly doesn’t know. They look a bit pikey and dodgy for it, to be honest, but he’d never say it out loud. Niall is flushed, his fair face pink with sunburn from their trip to the beach a few days ago. Zayn is sure some of it is also from drinking because they’ve been here for a while. More of it is probably from his temper though, which has been riled to say the least.

“Let’s go, mate!” he shouts across the table. “You’re gonna get your arses kicked now!”

“Niall, we’re losing.” Danny laughs, just glad for the opportunity to get drunk with friends in London. Bradford can be a boring place, even for him. “We’ve sunk three cups and they have six.”

“So? This is going to be our comeback!”

They end up losing a few minutes later and leave the table, Niall muttering under his breath about “the stupid bastards” and how he needs another drink. A boy with short, dark hair steps up to take their spot. He’s dressed in a light T-shirt and jeans and his hair looks soft enough to touch. He looks around, hands shoved into his pockets, as the pikey sorts laugh and congratulate themselves on their win with more drinks. Zayn takes a pull of his own, interested enough to stick around instead of trying to find Niall in the chaos.

“Andy?” The brown-haired boy calls out. Zayn notes idly that he looks to be around his own age. He also seems only slightly irritated. “Andy, where you at, mate?”

“He left!” Someone calls back. “Went outside with that blonde girl!”

The guy mutters what is clearly a curse under his breath and Zayn is stepping forward—why is he moving? he was watching, he wanted to watch—before his alcohol-soaked mind can fully catch up to what he’s doing.

“No worries,” he hears himself saying. He’s clearly had more to drink than he previously thought. He’s surprised he wasn’t dancing already if he’s drunk enough to be volunteering to play with someone he doesn’t even know. Why wasn’t he shaking his arse to Beyonce and avoiding this other potential horror? “I’ll be your second.”

“Really? Cheers.” The boy’s face softens into a smile that Zayn likes. That he likes a lot. This close, he can see his eyes are big and brown. Warm. They’re also warm and friendly. There’s that too. Zayn blinks down at the hand extended his way for a moment before he remembers what he’s supposed to do and takes it. “I’m Liam, by the way.”

“Zayn. Nice to meet you.”

They shake briefly and take up their positions at what is clearly used as the dining room table normally. They set up the rack of plastic cups in their proper positions and fill them with the correct amount of the cheapest beer money can buy. Zayn looks across at their competition, feeling his nerves jangling just beneath his skin. He hasn’t played pong in a while—he prefers drinking games like King’s Cup or Ring of Fire—and he remembers suddenly that he prefers drinking games that use cards because he was rubbish at pong. He’s suddenly relieved that Louis isn’t here because he’s a brilliant pong player and would be sure to make fun of Zayn if he were to lose, which seems somewhat likely at this point. He doesn’t have much faith in his abilities.

“How good at this are you?” he murmurs to Liam, watching the two lads across the table set up.

“Better than these blokes.” Liam sounds self-assured, which serves to make Zayn feel a bit better.

“Yeah? That’s good. I haven’t exactly played in a while…”

“That’s okay.” Liam smiles at him again and Zayn can tell from it that he is one of those positive sorts who doesn’t let a lot get to him. After all, Zayn just volunteered to be his partner and basically confessed to him that he wasn’t actually good at the game. Most people would be a little annoyed at that, but Liam is all good cheer. “It’ll be fun just to play, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Zayn smiles back at him shyly, all closed lips and no teeth. “I’d like to think so.”

“Then let’s make a promise.” Liam looks serious but Zayn can see the smile hidden in the corner of his mouth, like a secret. “No matter what, win or lose, we’ll still smile and drink and have a good night. Deal?”

He reaches out with a hand and Zayn takes it, liking the feel of his fingers against his own. He puts it down to alcohol combined with making a new friend and shrugs the feeling off.

“Deal.”

“Good.” Liam grins and Zayn’s stomach squirms, the sensation not altogether unpleasant. “It’d be a pity to see someone with a smile as great as yours looking upset.”

Zayn isn’t quite sure how to take that and can’t tell if he was just hit on or not but their competition calls for them to start and he doesn’t have the time to figure it out. There’s a small ping-pong ball in his hand and Liam is lining up for his first shot, lip caught between his teeth. For some reason Zayn finds it distracting and has to tear himself away from the sight so he can take his turn too when the time comes.

They aren’t bad. They’re not brilliant but they’re definitely better than Niall and Danny—it makes them more than a match for the nameless duo across the way. Zayn thinks that their names are Jerry and Tim. That’s what people seem to be cheering anyway. Their game has drawn a crowd and even Niall has forgotten his previous irritation enough to root for them against “the rotten cunts.” His nickname has earned more than a few dirty looks from those around him, especially those in the room wearing skimpy summer dresses, but everyone else seems to have forgiven him and have let it go because he’s Irish and that excuses a lot.

Liam sinks a particularly good shot and shouts, throwing his arms up in the air. The two lads—Jerry and Tim—glare at him and look at Zayn with the same rancor when his turn comes. If he makes this, they’ll get their balls back and, if he makes this, they’ll only have three cups left. If he makes this, they’ll be winning. Zayn takes a deep breath, ignoring the pikers, and focuses on the cup he’s decided would be the easiest to make. He tunes out the noise from the crowd and the music and focuses. When he throws, he closes his eyes as the ball leaves his fingertips, not sure he’ll be able to bear the sight of the ball missing.

Instead, he hears yells and shouts and a distinct, “Holy shit, man! _Two_! That’s two!”

Jerry and Tim are wishing that an axe murderer would break through the door right now and take his head off, but everyone else in the room who’s been watching the battle thinks he’s a hero. Okay, so maybe not that far but they should because he’s managed the amazing task of making two cups— _two cups._ He stares in utter shock at the ping-pong ball floating in the deluge of beer, spinning slightly in the top of the cup. Liam whoops and grabs him up in a one-armed hug, laughing wildly all the while.

“Oh my god! Oh my god! I thought you said you weren’t good!”

“I said I hadn’t played in a while—and I’m not.” Zayn barks out a laugh, caught up in Liam’s enthusiasm. “I don’t know how that happened.”

“You’re brilliant, that’s how it happened!” Liam crows. “We’ve got balls back, mate! You ready to finish this?”

“Yeah.” Zayn is smiling, his shyness very nearly shucked away. It’s something Louis teases him mercilessly about—he says he doesn’t understand how he can be as mental as the rest of them and then freeze up around strangers when he’s around them. That ice is melting around Liam, though, and melting fast. “Let’s win it.”

They do, two turns later, when Liam makes the last cup and the pikey lads miss their rebuttal. Zayn and Liam laugh, arms slung about one another’s shoulders, huge smiles plastered on their faces. Jerry and Tim drain their last cup, wishing they could murder the both of them with their minds alone, and leave the table in disgrace, their reign done with.

Zayn and Liam play, and win, another three games. By that point, Zayn’s smiles have turned loose and sloppy, given much more freely than normal. It could be blamed on the beers they’ve consumed—or it could be blamed on Liam, who beams at him every time he sinks a cup and hugs him or claps him on the back or gives him a high-five in praise. Zayn isn’t sure which reason it is any more. He can’t keep track. Everything is fuzzy and faded and liquid.

They leave the table after they win their fourth game because they’re bored and don’t feel like playing any longer. The lads they were supposed to play seem a bit upset about it all, but Liam walks away without another word so Zayn follows, letting Liam lead him through the crowd to hunt up some stronger drinks. Zayn looks for Danny or Niall or any of his other mates as they push through the throng but his friends are nowhere to be seen, either outside in the sticky darkness or lost amongst the tangle of bare arms and alcohol-laden breath. Zayn shrugs it off, not overly concerned. He wonders briefly if he’s a bad person because of it but Liam’s ahead of him, all broad shoulders in a T-shirt, pushing through the crowd, and the thought of his other friends doesn’t last long. Zayn is tempted to reach out and grab Liam’s elbow so he doesn’t lose him and very nearly stretches out a hand before he stops himself. A new friend, forged in victory, but still a new friend—even though Zayn doesn’t feel the need to find Niall or his other mates when he’s with him, especially when Liam looks over his shoulder to make sure he’s there and smiles his expansive smile when he sees he is. Zayn’s hands are warm and his stomach fluttering. He’s too drunk to care why, even if his mind is whispering _maybe…maybe…_

They locate where the harder alcohol is stashed and Zayn lets Liam make him a drink, wanting the liquor more than he cares for being specific on what. When Liam hands him his cup, their fingers brush and Zayn feels a bolt of electricity go zinging through his midriff. He blushes but Liam just smiles and leans forward, mouth next to his ear. It’s suddenly gotten very, very hot and Zayn wonders how someone could possibly have been stupid enough to turn the heat on in the house when it’s bloody August.

“Let’s go out front, yeah? A bit quieter.”

“Okay.”

Liam leads again and he lets him, actually reaching out this time so that fingertips are brushing his arm so he doesn’t lose him. There seems to be even more people in the tiny little flat now, as if they’re just popping out of the baseboards. Liam smiles at him and his stomach pitches again, making the heat rise to his face. He knows it’s not because of his blood alcohol content though—or someone turning on the heating. This has happened before, where Zayn will get drunk and find a guy and get a little…friendly. Usually it’s when he’s stupid with alcohol but he doesn’t mind it this time because Liam’s fit and cute and, well, why not? A drunken make out never hurt anyone. They could actually be quite nice.

So when they go outside and sit on the front stoop, alone in the night with the music and chatter pounding away behind them, Zayn’s throat feels a little tighter. He’s buzzing with awareness when they sit next to each other on the steps, knees almost bumping. The street before them is empty but for a few lorries and the other buildings, all lit up by streetlights that paint orange pools across the pavement. They drink in silence for a few moments and then Liam suddenly speaks, as if he can’t keep the thought in his head any longer.

“I miss the stars.”

“The stars?” Zayn glances up at the sky, and the scudding clouds that still wouldn’t be enough to cover the lights that aren’t there, and frowns.

“Yeah.” Liam leans back on an elbow, sipping his drink. “You can see ‘em back home and it’s weird not having that here. It makes everything seem bigger…”

Zayn considers it for a moment, looking at the inky darkness and the orange light that is trying oh so valiantly to repel it away. He takes a drink, the warm feeling of rum tickling at his throat when he swallows it. It makes him feel loose and lazy, out here in the night with Liam like this.

“Kind of scarier too,” he murmurs. “No one there to watch you or look out for you.”

Liam glances at him, brow furrowed, before he nods and looks up at the blackness too, cup rising to his lips, contemplation clear. “Yeah…Yeah, there’s that.”

They sit in silence and Zayn doesn’t know how long it stretches out. They’re so close, just centimeters apart, and he wants to reach out. He wants to touch Liam’s hair and see if it’s as soft as he thinks it is. He wants to touch Liam’s arm and feel his muscles and his warmth under his fingers. He’s just about to do it too, he’s a mere breath away from it, when Liam suddenly climbs to his feet. It makes Zayn’s head swim a bit but Liam’s smile is cheerful, the curvature of it easily seen even in the dim light around them.

“Come on.”

“What?” Zayn stares up at him, already muddled from inebriation so the change of pace is more confusing than it should be. Liam just stretches out a hand.

“Come on,” he repeats.

He hasn’t explained and Zayn knows that but he still takes the proffered help, allowing Liam to assist him upright. Liam is a lot stronger than he seems—why does that not really surprise him?—and easily drags him upward, overcompensating a bit, so Zayn nearly bumps into him as he gains his feet. _Oh._ His stomach jumps because of it, because they’re close enough that he can feel Liam’s breath on his face and their eyes are almost on a level. They hold for one buzzing moment, gazes locked, and Zayn’s breath catches. This is it, this is it, they’re seconds away from—but Liam turns and, grip tight on his hand, tugs him down the stairs to the front of the flat to the pavement beyond. The asphalt sparkles from the streetlights and Zayn watches the glimmers, slightly entranced, tripping behind Liam pliantly, just willing to be led as he buries his hopes. It’d been stupid to think Liam was going to kiss him then. He’d just pulled him up too fast, is all. Kissing? Kissing wasn’t on the agenda. They stop quite quickly and Zayn stumbles into immobility, distracted by his thoughts, very nearly running into the back of the other boy.

“Here seems good, yeah?” Liam turns to look at him and Zayn finds his attention lingering on his mouth and the words that fall from them. He licks his lips and nods, although the movement makes him feel more than a bit dizzy.

“Sure,” he agrees, not sure what he’s saying is good or not. “Seems brilliant.”

“I thought so too.”

Liam plops down onto the ground, dragging Zayn with him. They lay on the pavement, the warmth of the day seeping into their backs, their plastic cups of escape clutched in their hands. The silence is complete and unbroken and all Zayn can smell is rum and dry grass. It’s nice, peaceful even, but he’s drunk so he interrupts the quiet only a few minutes later.

“Um—what are we doing?”

Liam turns to him and shrugs. “Just...being. Pretending there are stars up there that we can’t see.”

“Oh, okay.”

Zayn turns back to look at the sky and they fall into silence again. He’s content to let it last, more so than he can even begin to explain. He likes where he’s at. He likes the silence. He likes that he’s out of the noise and the crowd. He likes laying in the middle of the street with a boy that makes his palms itch. It just feels...nice.

The summer night continues on around them and they drink without speaking. The rum is warm on his tongue and burns sweetly on the way down. It makes his mind go cloudier and his entire body go looser. It isn’t long before his cup is finished and is perched on the asphalt beside him. Zayn stares up at the black sky ahead, tracing the outline of the clouds and making shapes out of them—a dragon here, a sheep there, trying to ignore the fact that Liam is _right there_ next to him, so close, unbearably close, and they’re just laying in the middle of the street. He’s actually begun to enjoy the game he’s made with himself  when he feels a touch against his hand. He glances down to see Liam’s fingers laid against his own, long and hesitant, paler against his skin. He turns to look at Liam and sees nothing but questions in his eyes. And, god, oh god, he’s so excited he feels like he could throw up.

“Thanks for being my partner tonight,” Liam whispers and Zayn wonders for a moment why he’s whispering because it’s just them with no one else around. All of the other people are in their homes, bunkering down for the night, and the party is raging on in the flat, unaware that two of its participants are outside laying on the ground looking at stars that aren’t there.

“Yeah.” Zayn finds himself whispering too because Liam is. It’s like this moment is theirs and if they talk too loudly someone will find them and ruin it. He doesn’t want to be found, he wants to lay here in the street almost holding hands with Liam for a while longer. And more. Maybe more. Is it too much to hope for more? “I wasn’t just going to let you stand there without anyone.”

“I’m really glad that Andy left with that girl.”

Zayn licks the inside of his mouth, tasting the alcohol and all the potential words he could say. There’s so many available options for what could happen here and he doesn’t know what would be best. He doesn’t know what to say, not at all, so he settles for, “Me too.”

And then Liam’s fingers slide through his and his hand is on his face and he’s kissing Zayn, mouth pressed tight against his.

Oh god. He’s _kissing_ him. He’s actually _kissing him._ Zayn’s mind is blown for a moment because he hadn’t expected it but he responds eagerly within seconds, mouth opening beneath Liam’s insistent tongue, allowing him inside. He rolls to his side and Liam is on his too and they’re kissing soft and slow, a bit messier than usual but they’ve been drinking and Zayn doesn’t care because it feels good, it feels _so damn good_ , and Liam’s fingers are clutching at his face and they’re pressed together, hands exploring now, and tongues are dancing and— _fuck_ it feels nice.

They kiss for long minutes, all warm mouths and slightly greedy hands. Zayn is feeling dizzier than he had before and mad, totally mad, like he could burst into laughter at any moment. Liam is solid and real beneath his hands and he’s kissing him like there’s no tomorrow. Maybe there isn’t. Maybe this night will drag on and on and on and tomorrow will never come. He kind of wants tonight to last forever. He kind of wants to spend all night lying in the middle of the street kissing Liam because kissing Liam is really, really good.

And then he realizes what kissing in the middle of the street actually means.

He’s suddenly blinded and wonders what the hell is going on because his eyes are closed and there’s no reason for lights to be imploding behind his eyelids. Zayn pulls away from Liam in confusion as a horn blares. He jumps, heart almost exploding out of his mouth along with the curse he half-shouts, and stares at the car that is idling in the street. The driver lays on the horn again and Zayn realizes they’re being yelled at now. He and Liam scramble to their feet and out of the way, clutching at one another. For some reason, they’re laughing and it’s really not that funny because they could have just been run over but it’s funny because of it so they grab onto one another, fingers curling around shirts as they laugh themselves hoarse. The car speeds away, the driver flipping them off, and Zayn would have shouted after the prick except he’s breathless from laughter and Liam is looking at him with his big brown eyes and—well. Before he knows it, they’re kissing again, fingers wrapped round the back of each other’s necks as they familiarize themselves with each other’s shape and taste and touch.

He has no idea how long it has been—it honestly could have been hours—but they finally pull away and Liam’s hands settle on his shoulders. He’s smiling at him, one of those big huge smiles that has all of the world’s happiness in it. It makes Zayn’s stomach do a somersault and he smiles back, feeling much less shy now. Thank God. He likes Liam—likes him a lot—and he couldn’t stand it if the other boy thought he was being antisocial or rude just because he was tongue tied and didn’t know what to say. It’d be quite devastating, actually.

“You reckon we should get inside now?” There’s a little burble of laughter in Liam’s voice and Zayn wants to lick up the little smile he’s threatening to make too. “I’m sure our friends are missing us.”

“Probably.” Zayn sighs. He wants to stay out here. He wants to get to know Liam more. And this? This doesn’t feel like a drunken makeout. This doesn’t feel like it has before when he’s fooled around with guys. This feels better. This feels like—more, somehow. “I think we’ve been out here for a while.”

“Yeah.” There’s a pause and then Zayn swears that Liam is blushing. “Um—do you have your mobile on you?”

“Yeah, ‘course.”

There’s another silence and then Liam laughs awkwardly and scrubs his hand over the back of his neck.

“Would you mind terribly if I got your number?”

“Oh!” _Oh_. “No! I mean—of course not.” He is so stupid. So, so stupid. How can Liam even be considering asking him for his number when he’s so stupid? He rattles off his number and then fishes his own mobile out so he can key in Liam’s. His hands are shaking a little and his stomach seems to be floating around in his chest somewhere.

He’s never gotten another guy’s number and, well, he’s not sure how he feels about it to be completely honest.

But they head back inside and Liam keeps looking at him from the corner of his eye and it makes Zayn feel hot and flushed and happy. They find excuses to touch each other—when they’re getting new drinks, when they’re threading through the masses of people again—and Zayn is considering just dragging the other boy into a hall or something so he can get his mouth on him again when they run into Niall and Danny and his other mate, James. Zayn tries not to feel disappointed and smiles at them as best he can.

“Hey! Where’ve you lot been? I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

“We’ve been looking for you too.” James smiles, eyes raking over Liam, standing close to Zayn’s side. “You doing all right, mate?”

“Yeah, great, thanks. Um, this is Liam.” He turns slightly so they can all see each other. He’s feeling a bit awkward now because James is looking at him and he can’t say that it’s one hundred percent friendly. Zayn resists the urge to fidget because he knows where this could be headed and he doesn’t like it, not at all. He hates being berated. “We were pong partners earlier.”

“We noticed.” Danny smiles and reaches out a hand. “Nice to meet you! Danny.”

Liam finishes the introductions and then Niall jumps in, all smiles and skinny arms in a vest. Danny and Niall at least seem fine, both of them grinning and happy and a bit unsteady on their feet, but Zayn notices that his other friend seem a bit colder than normal. His unease increases. James had blown up on him before for kissing another bloke at a party and ranted on and on that he didn’t want his friend being known as a fag or a gay boy when he wasn’t. Zayn hadn’t exactly had the heart to tell him then that he had been the one to start it all.

He definitely doesn’t have the heart to get yelled at again either now, especially not in front of Liam.

Niall and Liam are talking and laughing, having discovered some mutual friend they apparently have, but Zayn’s insides are twisting themselves into knots because he knows what James thinks is going on between him and Liam and he knows what he’d have to say about _that_. He’s watching Liam with a hard mouth and slitted eyes and Zayn wants to tear his hair out because Liam is one of the kindest people he’s ever met in his life and he can’t bear the sight of him James looking at him like he’s the enemy.

“Well, this has been fun and all,” James starts out slowly and Zayn wants to throw up right there on the Persian rug. “But I think we should be off, lads, yeah? It’s late and this party’s gotten too big for me. I’ve got some bottles at mine we could finish off if we feel like it. Whatcha say?”

Niall and Danny break off their conversation to look at their friend and Zayn is able to breathe a bit easier. The chance of being shouted out seems to have decreased.

“Sure.” Danny shrugs. “Pissed is pissed and I don’t care where it happens so long as it does.”

“Sure, sure.” Niall doesn’t seem fazed either. “I don’t mind what we’re doing so long as we’re having a good time doing it.”

It’s Zayn’s turn to say whether he’s in or not and James is looking at him like he expects him to say okay—and like he will shout at him if he doesn’t. But Liam is standing at his side, slightly tenser than he has been all night, and Zayn feels his stomach drop. He speaks the words into existence, feeling like a traitor as he does. He doesn’t see an alternative.

“Whatever. I just want to sleep in a place where I can be sure I won’t be drawn on.”

“Safe! We’ll go to mine then and finish the night out then, yeah?”

There’s a general murmur of consent and they start making toward the door, moving through the other teenagers looking for a good night and a good time. Zayn turns to Liam somewhat miserably, feeling a bit cornered by it all. James means well enough, he does, he’s just looking out for him in his own, but Zayn feels a bit like he’s being forced to go with them when, really, hanging with Liam for the rest of the night doesn’t sound all that bad. It doesn’t sound bad at all, actually.

“I’m sorry.” Zayn stares at the toes of Liam’s shoes because he can’t bear to look at him and see the disappointment sure to be written all over his face. He rakes a hand through his hair. “I really want to stay but they’re my mates and I’m staying with them tonight and—”

“It’s okay.” Zayn glances up and Liam is smiling his bright, everything-will-be-right-in-the-end smile, even though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ve got your number so I’ll just ring you sometime.”

It’s not supposed to be a question but it sounds like it so Zayn nods, smiling back at him. “I’d actually really like that.”

“I’ll make sure I do it then.”

There’s an awkward moment then because they don’t know how to say goodbye. They were just kissing one another rather enthusiastically not long before so they can’t shake hands, hugging just seems strange, and kissing…kissing again is out of the question now. They don’t know each other well enough to say goodbye like that—for Christ’s sake, they’ve only just met—and even if Zayn wants to he knows his friends are waiting. He knows for sure James would have a stroke and die right there on the floor if he saw him locking lips with another boy. So he just smiles at Liam and nods again.

“All right. Safe. Yeah.”

And then he ducks away, cheeks burning red, and joins the group of his friends. They stumble out the same door he’d gone through with Liam not too long before and are outside in the cooler air, beneath the black sky, staggering their way toward some semblance of home. Zayn glances up to make sure there are no stars and wonders if the imprints of his and Liam’s bodies could be in the street, there for his friends to see, glaring red and obvious, a neon sign demonstrating everything they had been doing. But it’s just a street and they walk past where he and Liam had their secret tryst, laughter and shouts and curses ringing out into the night, overpowering the whispers that had been sunk into the asphalt. Zayn slides his hands into his pockets, feeling a heaviness weighing on his stomach now. He hopes he’s not going to vomit all over the place and make a fool of himself when James slings an arm over his shoulders.

“You all right, mate?”

“Yeah, I’m fine…You okay?”

“I’m good. Reaaaaally good.”

“Glad to hear you’re pissed and happy about it, James.”

“‘Course! There’s no other way to do it.”

A silence hangs for a few moments. Zayn watches Niall skip ahead, dancing down the sidewalk, moving in time to a song only he can hear. It makes him smile because Niall is absolutely mental, he really is, and he loves him for it, and then James clears his throat, bringing them both back to the business at hand. Zayn’s throat goes tight because he has a feeling he’s not going to like what is coming.

“Seemed like you and that Liam bloke got pretty tight.”

“Well, we did play together for a while and won a few games,” Zayn points out.

“Yeah…but…still.”

“Still what?” Zayn turns just enough to look at his friend, his frown etched deep into the corners of his mouth.

“I dunno. It just seems weird is all.”

“What seems weird?” Zayn can feel the first prickling of annoyance and shoves it aside. He has the feeling he knows where this is going but he hopes, he prays, that it’s not and that his fears are unfounded.

Except that it does and they aren’t.

“Just…The two of you getting on so well. I mean…aren’t you supposed to talk to girls at parties?”

Zayn doesn’t answer right away because he doesn’t feel like he physically can. James’s arm falls away from his shoulder and he’s glad because he doesn’t think he could bear being touched by him right now. The question is light and entirely innocent but Zayn can read into it. He’s not an idiot, even if he is rather drunk. He knows exactly what James is not so subtly trying to say and it makes his blood rise a bit.

“I met a guy and we talked, James. You got a problem with that?”

“No, no!” James is all wide eyes and spread hands and innocence. He’s doing his best to appear like he didn’t mean it that way at all but Zayn knows he did, he _knows_ he did, and it makes his jaw clench because he’s being lied to and he hates that. “I just don’t want other people thinking you’re something that you’re not, mate. You know? Just trying to look out for you.”

Before Zayn can even begin to formulate a response to that—what the fuck did he mean, he didn’t want other people ‘thinking he was something he’s not?’—James leaves him and joins up with the other lads, sinking into their conversation and antics quickly. Zayn walks at the back of the group, hands in his pockets again, his blood thrumming. He knows what is going on here now and he doesn’t like it, not at all. He feels like bile is rising in his throat and it’s not because of an uneasy stomach.

James was “looking out for him” because he doesn’t want people thinking that Zayn is gay because he hung out with Liam all night. And they disappeared for a while. James was “just trying to look out for him” by making them leave and go over to his for the night, rather than stay at the party—and around Liam—any longer. James doesn’t want Zayn known as the queer so he spirited them all away. Zayn gets it, he understands—he doesn’t want to be known as gay either when he’s not—except that…well, except that…

What if he was?

————————————————————————

The next day begins with a nagging headache and the overwhelming desire for a proper fry-up from the dive a few streets over. Zayn is no stranger to hangovers and this one is a very soft six on the scale, but it still isn’t altogether pleasant. He feels a little like a gross, ugly slug. And he wants to brush his teeth. He wants to brush his teeth badly, even more than he wants a shower. Well, maybe he wants a shower more. He feels like a gross, ugly, _smelly_ slug. To put it plainly, he’s a bit of a wreck, even if his headache isn’t horrific and his stomach isn’t threatening to revolt.

They all stayed over at James’s and are sprawled out all over his living room in disarray in the late morning sunlight. James claimed the bigger of the two couches, naturally, and Niall is stuffed into the sectional, snoring away happily, his blonde hair sticking up all over the place from under the blanket that covers him from head to toe. Zayn and Danny are spread out on the floor, wrapped up in the thin sheets they dug out from the linen closet in their drunken stupor late the night before. Or this morning. _Early_ this morning. Zayn is the only one awake right now, for some godforsaken reason he doesn’t know of. He doesn’t want to be conscious. He feels like he really, really doesn’t want to be—sleeping is one of his favorite of all activities—but he needs to pee like a bitch so that takes precedence over staying there and floating into unconsciousness again, bugger it all.

By the time he finishes and has come back, the other lads are rousing and it seems like he won’t be getting more sleep after all. He’s a little sulky about it because he loves his sleep but they’re talking about getting food and that alleviates his crabbiness, especially when he hears the words “fry-up” mentioned. The idea of food is _brilliant_ —after he brushes his teeth, please God let him at least be able to brush his teeth. Give him at least that. You can’t expect a lad to go out in public with the smell of last night’s alcohol all up in his mouth. That’s just rude.

When he makes the request, James just laughs and tosses him a small bottle of mouthwash, saying that it’s close enough. Zayn glowers at the bright green liquid—it’s actually _not_ close enough—but it’s all he’ll be getting so he uses it, wishing Harry or Louis were here because they’re be more sympathetic. Maybe. Louis would tease him but he’d get it because Louis is almost as bad as Zayn is when it comes to appearances. Not that _he’d_ ever admit it.

They walk to the little shop once they’ve freshened up as much as they can, even though all five of them are in their clothes from the night before, wrinkled and ragged with some stains that weren’t there the day before, clear evidence of their night’s activities. Whatever. It’s Saturday. Everyone’s hungover on Saturday. Sunglasses cover all their faces, shading their overly sensitive eyes from a bright and burning August sun that threatens to stab more than it does to shine. Niall, out of all of them, seems the least affected from their night out. He fairly skips alongside their group, singing lustily in his slightly raspy voice, his arms swinging happily at his sides. Zayn would hate him and his cheerfulness but he also knows that Niall is fully capable of drinking all of them under the table and then some so he just ignores it and pushes his sunglasses back up the bridge of his nose, trying to pretend like he isn’t jealous and like his head isn’t still pounding.

He has food to get to anyhow. Food that involves wonderful, amazing, brilliant, hangover-curing, gift from the gods above bacon.

And it tastes like heaven when he takes the first bite.

They squeeze into a tiny booth, knocking knees and elbows, but they’re silent and focused as they eat, drowning their hangovers with syrup and grease. Zayn takes a huge pull from his drink and feels it start to revive him somewhat. He’s glad, because he doesn’t fancy feeling like a zombie for much longer. It’s not actually very fun. He’s on his third piece of sausage—and feeling much better for it—when the sound of chewing and swallowing is broken for the first time.

“You lads want to go kick a ball around after this? Play a little pick-up?” James glances up from his food.

There’s a grumbling from around the table and some nods of assent as well as a comment from Danny that he’ll puke if he has to run. Zayn agrees to playing, feeling more like his normal self now with every passing moment—and every bite of his breakfast that he takes. Besides, he needs all the practice he can get if he’s going to make first-string this year.

“Cheers, mate. It’ll be a laugh.”

“I don’t reckon we’ll get too into it.”

“If we do, there’s gonna be an arse kicking.”

They’re all laughing at that when a loud shout comes from across the tiny restaurant, making Danny—who definitely had more than his fair share the night before—wince.

“Look at these rays of sunshine!” an undeniable voice crows, making Zayn grin and roll his eyes behind the sunglasses he’s still wearing. He’d be able to pick Louis Tomlinson out from across the platform at King’s Cross during the Christmas holidays, he reckons, and entirely too easily too. He’s just that recognizable, God love him for it, even if Danny isn’t exactly too keen on him at the moment. It makes Zayn laugh though, because Danny deserves the hangover he more than earned.

Louis comes swaggering up to them, Harry in tow, the both of them smiling foolishly, dressed for the weather in shorts, while Harry sports a loose vest much like the one Niall is wearing. They appear the very picture of health, all huge smiles and tanned faces, which Zayn can see turns Danny’s stomach a bit. It makes him snicker into his sausage as he takes the next bite.

“You certainly seem cheerful,” James mumbles around a mouthful of fried egg and tomato.

“Nothing to get us down!” Louis laughs. “We’re not the ones who went and got completely pissed and are paying for it in the morning, are we?”

“You missed a great party.” Niall shovels egg into his mouth, blue eyes bright and happy as some of it dangles from his lips when he talks. “Seriously wicked.”

“Looks like the hangovers are wicked too,” Harry comments drolly, his amusement tucked into the corners of his mouth, sunk deep into the dimples they all tease him over.

“Ha ha ha.” Danny throws a bit of toasted crust toward Harry. “At least we had a bit of fun last night. What were you doing again?”

Harry’s nose wrinkles and they all laugh at the glum expression on his face. “Inventory…”

“How did that go?” Danny snickers.

“It was bloody awful.” Harry pouts, long arms flopping to his sides. “It was a nightmare counting all of the supplies up. D’you know how many bags of flour or sugar a bakery has? I’ll tell you—too damn many.”

“The cupcakes were good though,” Louis interjects.

“The cupcakes were good,” Harry agrees with a nod and Zayn wonders when they would have had time to eat cupcakes, considering Louis was watching the girls last night.

“You wanna play some footy with us later?” James asks. Zayn eats, forgetting about Harry and Louis and the cupcakes as he attempts to get back to feeling like a normal human again. James obviously has the conversation covered so he can focus on his food. He’s not really needed except to add in his own asides from time to time and, even then, he’s not sure that’s actually necessary.

“When were you thinking?”

“Couple hours maybe? Enough time for us to go home, get a shower, and recup from the hangovers a bit?”

Louis debates for a moment, mouth twisting to the side with thought, before he jerks a shoulder and nods. “Fair enough. Where were you thinking?”

They start to talk logistics, going over the different pitches they could all invade, and Zayn finishes his plate and begins to contemplate getting a side order of eggs. It’s all good, really fucking good, but if he’s going to be playing footy later, he doesn’t want to eat _too_ much. That’d just be stupid. He leans back against the booth, contemplating this next greatest complexity of his life, when his mobile starts to vibrate in his pocket.

If he’s being honest, he’s a bit surprised, because nearly all of his friends are here and there’d be no reason for them to text him, so he retrieves his phone immediately, sure of only one thing: it’s bound to be his mum and she’s probably wondering where he got to. He drags his phone out but his mum’s name isn’t on the screen, it’s an entirely different one, and his heart slams immediately into his throat. He hasn’t forgotten about the exchange of numbers that had happened last night but…well…he didn’t think he’d be hearing from Liam after the way he left.

He was very, very mistaken about that, thank God.

_Hi Zayn? It’s Liam from last night. You gave me your number and I just really wanted to talk to you. :)_

Zayn stares at the screen on his phone, his throat tight and his heart rate accelerated to absolutely mental levels. He glances around at the lads next to him, wondering if they have X-ray eyes and can see who his text is from, and quickly keys back a response. He’s still not quite able to breathe.

_Hi! I’m glad you texted me. How are you? :D_

He sets his phone down but doesn’t even have the time to reach for his drink when it buzzes again. Zayn makes sure that his friends are engrossed in talking about the football and their food before he responds, hiding a small smile.

_I’m brilliant thanks! Glad to be talking to you! :) I wish we could have hung out longer last night thoughhh…_

_Me too. I thought you were really nice. :D x_

Zayn loses himself in the conversation happening on his iPhone screen, tuning out the one occurring around him because a boy with brown eyes and a boyish smile is talking to him and it makes his fingers buzz and his stomach fill with an army of butterflies. Football? It’s suddenly not as important as it was a few minutes ago. Neither is the idea of more food.

He’s going with this, no matter how weird it may or may not be. He’s going with this, because it makes him excited and happy and giddy and he hasn’t felt that way over someone in too long.

 _Buzzzz buzzzz._

_I thought you were really nice too. And a great partner at a stupid game lol._

Zayn smiles and immediately starts to text back, focused on this and only this as his friends talk around him and the smell of grease fills the air.

—————————————————————————

They talk. They talk all day. Even when Zayn is hanging with his mates or his family, he’ll check his phone and find another text from Liam. His days become consumed with talking with the other boy and finding out all he can about him.

He likes what he sees. A lot.

Liam is just as nice as he was at the party they met at. He’s sweet and silly and it makes Zayn laugh that he adds tons of extra letters to his texts when he’s excited. He seems genuinely interested in whatever it is that they are starting and they spend hours and hours talking about anything and nothing. They discover a mutual love for comic books and superheroes and he’d be a complete and utter fucking liar if he said Liam’s love for Batman didn’t make him smile. 

So when Liam suggests they go out to lunch, Zayn only hesitates a bit. It’s not that he doesn’t like Liam—because he does, he does a lot—it’s that this is the first time he’s been out with another boy and he doesn’t quite know how to handle it.

But he says yes because Liam makes him laugh and he still gets that swooping feeling in his stomach when he gets a new text from him and that seems like enough for now.

They agree to meet at a small pizza place and Zayn is there first. He wishes he wasn’t because it gives him more time to be in the company of his nerves and no one else, but he’s almost twenty minutes early so it stands to reason that he’d be here first. Even if he doesn’t like it. Even if he doesn’t like the fact that he was so worried about being late or the bus breaking down that he left with double amount of time he needed in order to get here and now has twenty minutes to kill.

Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes before his first date with another boy happens. Oh god.

He is directed to sit at a table and ends up playing with the corner of the plastic red and white checkered tablecloth as he tries not to freak out. He refuses to order even water for fear of being rude. They’re just meeting for some nice pizza and conversation, he tells himself. There’s nothing to be so anxious about. Nothing at all. Even if he’s paranoid and keeps wondering if he’s at the right place, in spite of the fact that he checked at least a dozen times over before coming. Even if he’s feeling like rubbish because his hair decided to act the twat and not cooperate today. Even if he’s worried that James might appear and see him and Liam together and make assumptions, however correct they may be.

But mostly, in the midst of all that, he’s worried that Liam is going to be disappointed and not want to see him again after this because talking during the day when you’re stone cold sober is a lot different than when you’re drunk and at a party. A _lot_ different. It doesn’t matter that they’ve been speaking with each other their every waking moment the last week—this is the first time they’ll be seeing each other face-to-face again and, Jesus, fuck, why did his hair decide to put up a fight today of all days?

What is he even doing here? It’s a question he keeps asking himself over and over again. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be waiting on some other boy to come in so they can eat pizza and…what? Talk more? Get to know each other better? He doesn’t know what he’s doing here. He likes Liam but this, this _date_ , is taking it a little far. He’s kissed some boys, maybe even gotten a little handsy, but a _relationship_? Even the potential for one?

It’s too much, too fast, and he doesn’t know how to handle it.

He’s about to get out of his chair and leave when the bell above the door tinkles and Liam walks in, eyes expectant as he searches the tiny restaurant for him. Zayn watches, his heart somehow resting on the back of his tongue. Leave or stay? Stay or leave? It’s now or never. There’s no turning back after this. He could sneak out the back and say he got lost and—and Liam finds him and their eyes meet and Zayn feels the smile that is immediately on his face and knows he’s staying. He also knows that he’s going to think of the huge grin that lit Liam’s face as soon as he saw him if he ever comes to this damn place again.

God help him.

Liam walks over and Zayn’s nerves skyrocket to new levels. This is it. The real life moment of truth. What if he’s let down? What if he remembers him differently from the party? It was nearly a week ago now and they were both pissed. What if he’s changed his mind now he doesn’t have massive amounts of alcohol affecting it?

And goddammit, _why_ couldn’t his hair have cooperated today of all days?

But Liam sits down and he’s smiling still. He reaches across the table and grabs one of Zayn’s hands and squeezes it and, oh god, Zayn feels like he might fall over from the rush he gets from it. He’s worse than a bloody twelve year old girl.

“Hi! Sorry I’m late.”

“You weren’t late, I was really fucking early,” Zayn blurts out and then immediately wishes he could stuff the words back into his mouth. Smooth, Malik, very smooth. Nice way to get things started. He is such a fucking wanker.

Liam just laughs, fingers still tangled with his own, his palm warm and broad pressed tight to his. Zayn find himself desperately hoping that he won’t let go the entire time they’re eating. He hopes they can stay like this forever because it feels so nice and he wonders how it’s possible that thirty seconds ago he had contemplated leaving when Liam is here and smiling at him and his heart is doing funny things in his chest.

“Better late than never though, yeah?” Liam I-can-find-the-silver-lining-in-anything Payne says and Zayn can’t help but smile at him and nod.

“Yeah. That’s what I think too.”

They end up splitting a large pepperoni and talk for what seems like hours—and probably is. Zayn can tell that their waiter starts getting annoyed at them because he wants the table for other customers but, honestly, Zayn can’t be fucked. He smiles and laughs so much during their conversation that he feels like his face is starting to hurt but he finds that he doesn’t mind that either. He and Liam are able to talk just as freely and easily as they are on text and he can’t believe how smooth it is, honestly. The last date he went on was an absolute disaster. The girl had just gone on and on about some play she’d been in and Zayn had been bored near to tears. But not with Liam. He’s so far from bored it’s mental, in retrospect. They actually spend at least an hour discussing the city of Gotham and its many varied characters at one point and Zayn nearly cheers when Liam says Batman will always be his favorite but that Nightwing is a close second because, honestly, who wouldn’t have Nightwing as their second favorite?

They’re deep in a discussion of football and who they think will win the champions league this year when their waiter comes up, smile tight and his hands folded in front of himself, white-knuckled with repressed tension.

“Is there anything else I can get you or are you ready for the check?”

Zayn and Liam are torn from their conversation by the passive aggressive line of questioning. Liam looks as if he’s coming up for air after being underwater for too long and Zayn certainly feels like it. He blinks at the new man in front of him, confused that it’s not Liam, and notices the irritation eking off of his white-aproned body. He opens his mouth, about to tell him that they’re fine, but Liam beats him to the punch.

“Yes, actually, one moment please.” He smiles disarmingly and turns to Zayn. “Do you like chocolate?”

“Chocolate?” He hasn’t expected this and responds without thinking. “Yeah, of course.”

“Perfect. We’ll have a slice of your chocolate cake then, yeah? A big one, please.”

Zayn watches their waiter and notices his tight smile. He wonders that he doesn’t actually huff with his irritation or roll his eyes at the request because, Christ, he seems close and it seems like a bit of a laugh now, especially because Liam is smiling at him just as pleasantly as ever. Zayn has to cover his snicker with a hand.

“I’ll get that right to you,” the man manages through nearly clenched teeth.

“Thank you.” Liam’s smile turns charming before their waiter sweeps off and Zayn decides that he must be the straightest of the straight to not be affected by one of Liam’s sunny, happiness-inducing smiles because, honestly, you’d have to be in order to be so unaffected. And soulless, after being hit by one. That too.

As for himself, Zayn certainly feels more cheerful when Liam rounds toward him and laughs lightly through his nose.

“I swear, I thought that bloke was about to brain me,” he whispers confidentially.

“D’you think he’s going to spit onto the cake then? I bet he is.”

“It’d still be worth it. Their cake is so bloody good.”

“I’ll believe you on that one.”

“You’ll see.” Liam smiles, satisfaction lurking in his dark eyes. “This cake is almost as good as Albion beating Wolves.”

Zayn shakes his head and laughs. “If you say so.”

“You’ll see,” he promises simply.

Their cake doesn’t take long in coming, presumably because their waiter wants them to leave so he can free up the table, and as far as Zayn can tell, it’s thankfully spit-free. It’s also massive, encompassing the small white plate its on, the chocolate icing fairly oozing onto the stoneware. Liam offers him a fork with a small smile and raised brows.

“Shall we?”

“Please.”

The first bite he takes is rich and decadent and huge—and it nearly makes Zayn roll his eyes in ecstasy. He hums around the mouthful as Liam laughs, slapping his arm lightly.

“Told ya it was amazing. If I suddenly become a millionaire, I’d buy a lifetime’s supply of this cake so I could have it whenever I wanted it.”

“Don’ blame you,” Zayn mumbles around the chocolatey paradise he’s discovered. “This ‘s bloo’y ama’in’.”

Liam just laughs and takes another huge forkful, looking like the happiest man in all the world. “Yeah, it is.”

They attack the cake with a vengeance and, even though there’s two of them, it’s an effort to finish the huge slice because of all the pizza they gorged themselves on. Eventually, they throw their forks down with the finality of men who have won a war, the plate eaten clean except for a smear of chocolate icing and a few crumbs.

“Jesus,” Zayn groans, rubbing lightly at his belly as he flops back in his seat. “That was the best fucking thing I’ve ever eaten in my entire life.”

“Definitely.” Liam grins.

Their waiter had to have been waiting for the exact moment for them to finish because he whisks over and leaves their receipt plate on the table, smile edging on the precipice of being obviously forced.

“I’m ready whenever you are.” He’s off again without so much as a, “take your time” and Zayn and Liam immediately burst into laughter, tossing jokes around about the pole stuck up his bum and how his OCD medication must really be kicking in.

Liam drags his wallet out and lays a bill on the plate before Zayn can. Zayn opens his mouth but is speared by a reproving look and closes it, sulking a bit because there wasn’t even a fight about who was going to pay. Their waiter is back like magic and snatches the cheque up as Liam reaches across the table and finds Zayn’s hand again.

“If I ask you out, you’re not going to pay. That’s just the way it goes.”

Zayn stares at him for a moment, and into those earnest brown eyes, before he relents with a huff that makes Liam snicker. He squeezes his hand before he withdraws and, Zayn would never admit it, but being paid for actually feels really, really nice. It’s a pleasant difference from what he’s used to.

They leave once Liam gets his change back—after leaving a hefty tip, though their waiter hadn’t really earned it— and step out side by side into the sunny walkway. It’s crowded with people going about their business as the August day winds toward the end of business hours, the sun hanging lower in the sky, evidence of the late afternoon. They start walking, losing themselves in the press, and Zayn wonders if he should take Liam’s hand. He wants to because he likes the feel of Liam’s strong fingers wrapped around his own, but he’s not sure how he would feel about it so he shoves his hands into his pockets to avoid the temptation.

“Where are you headed?” Liam asks quietly.

“The bus. Home’s a bit farther away for me.”

“I’m that way.” Liam jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Thankfully far enough away that I won’t be eating chocolate cake every day.”

“Best to save it for special occasions then.”

“Something like that.” Liam smiles at him and Zayn ducks his head, wondering if he’s blushing or only feels like it. God, will he ever actually act normal around him? “Walk you to the stop?”

“Sure.”

It’s only a few minute’s walk and they fill the time with idle chatter about their plans for the rest of the day and how they hope Man U will really suffer this season. They reach the stop all too quickly for Zayn’s taste despite their attempts at walking slowly. They end up stopping a few yards away. He feels awkward because, once again, he doesn’t know how to say goodbye. With a girl, he’d give her a hug and maybe a kiss if the date was decent but being with Liam is altogether new for him and he’s second guessing _everything_.

“Well, um, I’ll see you soon then?” he throws out, because it seems the best and safest option.

“I hope so.” Liam smiles at him and Zayn feels the butterflies invade his body again. Dammit.

“I’d like to.”

“Then it’s sorted.”

The silence drags on for a few excruciating moments and Zayn is wondering what the hell he’s supposed to say next when a reckless look crosses Liam’s face and he mutters something under his breath—then his hand circles the back of Zayn’s neck and he hauls him forward.

Their mouths connect and then slide, remembering one another easily. Liam presses closer and Zayn lets him, hands resting lightly on his shoulders. It’s nice to be able to kiss someone nearly as tall as he is. He abandons himself to sensation as Liam licks inside his mouth, making his skin go suddenly hot and prickly, erupting into goosebumps despite the warm summer air. He finds that he’s the one who’s pushing forward now and feels Liam’s smile before he ends the kiss and lays another, softer, quicker one on his mouth.

“I’ll be seeing you soon, Zayn.” Liam says it like a promise and Zayn nods, feeling a bit dazed because he’s never been given a goodbye kiss like this, in daylight—in _public_ —before. Ever.

“That’s good,” he murmurs hazily and Liam just laughs, fingers gripping his for a quick moment.

“Let me know when you get home, yeah?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

Liam laughs quietly and smoothes his mouth over Zayn’s again for a moment, prolonging what is the best first date drop-off of Zayn’s life. “I’m glad we went out.”

“Me too.” Zayn smiles, feeling his brain go slightly less fuzzy. He’s usually good at this. He’s usually very good at this. He’s been told he’s a great kisser and even a decent lay but Liam has reduced him to incoherency, proving that Zayn’s musings about an aspect of his life may be true. It’s a lot to absorb. “I’m excited to again.”

“Me too.”

They kiss again, lightly, softly, before Liam steps back and waves a bit. He turns and starts walking in the opposite direction, headed toward a home far enough away that he can’t eat chocolate cake every day. He doesn’t look back. Zayn stares after him for a moment, body still buzzing, before he shakes his head and heads toward the bus stop and his own home.

He feels excited. He feels absolutely giddy, truth be told. He’s never had a date go so well, not once in his life, and it makes him feel all the more glad that he decided to stay and didn’t pull a runner like he had wanted to. He would have missed so much. He would have missed the infectious laughter and the brilliant conversation that has filled his afternoon, not to mention the sight of Liam’s magnanimous smiles.

He would have missed feeling like his world is centered and balanced. He would have missed feeling less guilty about those random run-ins he’s had with blokes because no girl, no matter how fit, has ever made him feel like this before. If he would have ditched out on the brilliant date he’s just had, he would have missed out on the confirmation that he really and truly might be gay—and he would have missed out on how right and real that feels.

Zayn boards with the other passengers when the time comes and claims one of the worn plastic seats, phone in hand and giant smile on his face as soon as he sits down. He types the message out quickly and sends it before he leans back in his seat, unable to keep from beaming to himself. Today had been fantastic. Seeing Liam had been amazing. What he’s feeling now? It’s almost as good as the best chocolate cake he’s ever eaten in his life.

_Thanks so much for today. I really, really want to see you again. Soon. xxx_

—————————————————————————————

It's been two weeks and school is so close Zayn can practically taste it. He and Liam have been talking almost incessantly, especially since Liam dropped the bomb that he and Zayn are going to be going to the same college this upcoming term—as if that wasn't something he should have mentioned from day one. Zayn had given Liam some grief over that one but couldn't not talk to him because it's become such a fixture of his day. It’s gotten to the point that Zayn’s mum confiscated his phone the other night at dinner because she was so frustrated that he wasn’t joining in on the “family time,” but even that hasn’t dampened Zayn’s spirits. Ever since he and Liam started talking, and hanging out, he hasn’t been able to stop smiling. Whaliya says she doesn’t recognize him and Doniya has been pestering him about the girl he’s obviously talking to—which makes his smile falter more than he’d like to say. Still, his days seem bright and more fun and full, so he keeps it close and doesn’t tell anyone—he just keeps smiling.

They’re in the park and the sun is shining and Zayn is wondering if the big star keeping them all alive could have possibly taken up residence in his stomach because it feels like it. It’s mad, of course, absolutely barking, but he can’t shake the feeling that rays of light are shooting from his fingertips and toes.

Liam just has that effect.

“Are you seriously trying to tell me that you prefer the Green Lantern over the Flash?” Liam asks.

“Of course I do. Green Lantern is a million times better than the Flash. All Flash does is run.” 

“Yeah…but he runs fast.”

It makes Zayn laugh. He elbows Liam in the side, nose wrinkled slightly. “Oh yeah, Batboy? He runs fast?”

“Yeah, he runs fast.” Liam laughs through lips desperate to hold it back, but he doesn’t quite succeed. His eyes crinkle at the corners with his amusement, even as he protests, “But he’s a classic!”

“Yeah, well, so’s Spiderman and we both know how you feel about him.”

“Batman’s better!” Liam protests hotly. “I don’t know why everyone says that Spiderman is better or why there’s an even a discussion about it because it’s clearly Batman.”

“I know.” Zayn grins because he has to. He can already tell that seeing Liam so worked up is rare but he likes how flushed he’s gotten and how vehemently he’s defending his favorite superhero. It’s pretty adorable, if he’s allowed to say that about another bloke.

“Yeah, you do.” Liam softens and smiles at him in a way that makes Zayn’s stomach do flips. The sun is hot and the park smell likes grass and suntan lotion—and Liam Payne is looking at him like he wants to kiss him and, god, Zayn really hopes he does. 

But there are people everywhere and Liam must have felt those eyes too because he grips Zayn’s hand for a moment, squeezing gently, before they walk on down the hill. Zayn’s disappointment is nearly tangible.

They find a small open field that’s free and claim it for their own. The trees of the park are on one side and another game of footy is going on on the other. They drop their bags and water and the football that Liam brought. It rolls onto the field, the colors of it spinning until it comes to a soft stop in the bright grass. Zayn tugs on his shoes to make sure the laces are tight enough and looks up to see Liam grinning at him.

“What?” Zayn asks. Does he have something on his face? Is his arse hanging out of his shorts? He frowns but Liam laughs, shaking one hand at him.

“Nothing, nothing. I was just thinking of how nice this was.”

“Yeah?” Zayn feels some of that light inside of him shining brighter. “It is, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. I haven’t played footy with anyone new in a while so it’ll be nice.”

“Same here. I’ve just been playing with my other friends and, well—”

“You start to know what they’re going to do and there’s no real challenge.”

“Yeah, exactly.” Liam nods and then steps forward. There’s a look on his face that has Zayn intrigued. Liam looks like he’s up to find something and that’s very interesting because Liam isn’t exactly a mischief maker. Or is he? He did convince Zayn to go out and lay in the middle of the street while they were both pissed just a few weeks ago…Could that mean he’s a mischief maker? Zayn is beginning to realize he doesn’t really know everything about the other boy, even with their constant chatting.

“Let’s make it a bit interesting, yeah?” Liam continues.

“Interesting? Interesting how?”

Zayn’s stomach is a butterfly tent. It’s a coil of knots. It’s the first drop on a rollercoaster. He’s nervous and excited and he wants to know what it is that’s got Liam’s eyes shining like that because it’s bound to be a laugh.

“Let’s make a wager… Winner gets to do whatever they want to the loser. Deal?”

Zayn’s stomach has risen to the back of his throat and his breathing is all fluttery. He feels like he can’t get enough air and stares at Liam, eyes wide. His mind is running at light speed as he tries to figure out what Liam is suggesting but he keeps coming back to thinking about Liam’s mouth and his full bottom lip and that doesn’t help anything much at all. Mischief maker, indeed.

He inhales deeply, somehow managing to speak through the tightness of his throat. “‘Whatever’ like what, exactly?”

Liam smiles like he knows something and it just makes Zayn’s muscles pull together tighter with anticipation. The other boy glances around to see if anyone is around them and leans in and, oh god oh god oh god, his mouth is just brushing Zayn’s when he speaks next and it’s entirely too unfair and awful.

“Like anything that would ever come to mind. Anything.”

And then he presses his lips to Zayn’s in truth and they’re kissing like they haven’t in almost a week. Zayn instantly presses closer, butting his mouth against Liam’s until the other boy smiles with a curvature of lips that Zayn feels. He kisses back harder because of the insistence and hands are knotted in T-shirts and running up backs until Liam pulls away with a laugh that only makes Zayn want to kiss him all the harder. Jesus. It makes him really want to kiss him again and drink him down until they’re reduced to nothingness. Even right here in the middle of the goddamn park.

“Oi, we haven’t even started yet, quiffy. Not allowed!”

Zayn laughs and shoves at him lightly, blush staining his cheeks because he’s just been called ‘quiffy’ and he actually likes it. Who’d have ever imagined that?

“I’m not the one who started things!”

“No, you’re just the one who pushed them along.”

Zayn laughs and spreads his arms wide, mouth slanted with a slightly shamed grin. But only slightly because—“Can you blame me?”

Liam stares at him, lips pursed, before he laughs and swings an arm about his neck, smacking a casual kiss on him that makes Zayn feel slightly giddy again. Jesus. He hasn’t felt like this before. Ever. And he’d be embarrassed about it but he can’t be when Liam seems just as enthusiastic as he is.

“Nah, it’s all right. Let’s go, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They jog onto the field where their ball has rolled only for Liam to pick it up and move it to the center. He tells Zayn very seriously that they’re going to be playing this in truth and not just mucking about. Zayn points out that they haven’t even a referee or a whistle to get them started. Liam concedes that it’s true, shrugs, and then starts sprinting towards the other side of the field without another word, ball a blur between his feet. Zayn stares for a moment before he takes off after him, arms pumping, shouting that he’s a dirty cheat and he’ll get him back for it.

They might have meant to have played seriously, but it doesn’t take long for it to deteriorate.

Their pitch is nothing but a field full of green grass with no lines or any other reference guides. There’s no one there to make the calls, not for anything. They have to eyeball it and Zayn soon is able to tell when Liam is lying because his face gets too clear and his eyes too big, as if he’s a little kid telling his mum he hasn’t had any sweets at all today, promise. Except that, in this case, he’s saying that he was absolutely in bounds and that the goal Zayn says wasn’t absolutely would have been. Not that Zayn doesn’t do his fair share of lying either, but he thinks he’s sneakier about it because Liam hasn’t called him out on it yet. Not really.

It turns into them declaring a goal when they feel they normally would have reached the box, no matter if the other person swears they’ve another few yards to go. It gets dirtier from there, the both of them trying to steal or block one another at every turn. They don’t ever side tackle each other because they never get enough of a lead but there’s a lot of bustling and jockeying for the ball, legs flashing, trying to trap the other boy and trip him so the ball can be taken and victory won.

It gets Zayn a little hot and bothered, honestly. It’s not as if he’s trying to get turned on. He’s actually trying to win the bloody game but then it just happens when Liam is shoving up against him, pressed tight against him, and then wheels away and runs down the field with the ball. He’s really not trying to think about it that way, honestly, but it’s hard when Liam is sweating and his hair is flat against his head because of it and the imprint of his chest can be seen clearly through his shirt because of the hot day. It doesn’t help when they call a truce and stop for a water break—Zayn insisting he gets the ball on their return because Liam had gone out anyhow—and Liam guzzles a drink before he splashes water all over his head. Zayn watches it stream over his hair and neck, bottle against his own lips though he’s not drinking, because he’s much too preoccupied with the way that Liam’s shirt is quite literally sticking to him. He’s entirely too preoccupied by it, actually, but there’s no one around to notice, right? So who cares? A little appreciating never hurt anybody. It’s all in good spirit.

And then his eyes go wide and he chokes and starts to cough because Liam drags his shirt up over his head and dumps it to the ground and, shit, holy shit, holy motherfucking shit, does he have a nice body. Zayn knows he’s openly staring but can’t help it because, Jesus Christ, he feels like he’s looking at a bloke for some sporty advert and, well, he’s lucky he isn’t nursing a semi at this point. Damn lucky. And that good spirit? That’s gone completely out the window.

Christ help him.

Liam looks over at him with an entirely too innocent grin and Zayn does his best not to glare back because he’s affronted now. Oh god, is he offended. If Liam thinks he’s going to win this bout by stripping off and distracting him, he’s wrong. He’s so wrong. He’s so wrong that Zayn isn’t going to be nice now—he’s in this to win, even if it ends bloody.

They get up to play again and Liam goes trotting onto the field, shirtless and smirking. Zayn does glare at him now as he takes the ball to where the sideline is—for the moment. They both sink into position, eyes locked, Liam still grinning in a way that makes Zayn feel slightly dizzy. They stare for long, long seconds and then Zayn breaks away, hoping he’s taken Liam off guard as he sprints toward where Liam’s goal would be, with the other boy right by him, close enough that Zayn can feel his breath against his arm. He pushes harder, digging deeper, trying to run as fast as he’s physically able. Liam is fast, faster than him, but Zayn has more stamina. Though that’s all rubbish at the moment. It doesn’t help that he can run for longer when they’re playing one-on-one, because it’s all maneuvering and fast breaks—there isn’t even any time for fancy footwork or trick shots. For Christ’s sake, there aren’t even any breaks because there’s no one to pass to.

And, okay, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t love every second of it.

He sprints as fast as he can toward the other end of their makeshift pitch, swinging to lead with his left foot when Liam tries to steal the ball. His hip slams into the other boy’s and he hears Liam’s breathless laughter when he attempts to steal the ball again. Because Zayn is slightly off balance, he manages it and immediately makes toward the other side of the field, Zayn catching up with him in a few strides. Liam blocks him with an arm, pressing it against his midriff hard, hard enough that Zayn knows he’s serious about winning this—and winning his reward.

No, no, no, nope. He can’t think about that. He just _can’t._

Zayn shoves it to the back of his mind because it’s _really_ distracting and tries to push back against Liam, but the other boy pushes harder, blocking him out, and winds up with a kick that goes zipping through the grass, a clear enough goal that Zayn can’t even attempt to protest it. Liam shouts, one hand pumping into the air, turning to Zayn with a huge grin plastered on his face.

“Mate, you’re gonna have to do better than that if you want to win this.”

“We’ll just see about that,” Zayn promises. “Just you wait.”

Unfortunately, despite all of Zayn’s bravado, Liam ends up being right. 

Damn it all to fucking hell.

Half an hour later, Liam’s up four goals to Zayn’s two. Fucking _four_. The both of them are winded and absolutely parched from dashing up and down the field and the sun has been absolutely no help. They’re running across the pitch and Liam has the ball and Zayn is just behind him, nipping at his heels. He has to stop this shot. _Has_ to. If Liam gets this goal, he’s won and Zayn’s supposed to be a decent footballer and, _god_ , his chest is about to _burst._. Liam throws a sneaky elbow that manages to catch Zayn in the sternum and that’s it, it’s done, it’s over, because Liam’s kick goes sailing past what would have been the goal and he’s won, 5-2, and Zayn’s never been so embarrassed in his life. Or he would be, if he could see straight or even breathe. He gasps for breath, palms on his knees, thoroughly and completely winded. He flaps a hand at Liam weakly.

“Not—fair. Would have—been—a foul.”

Liam turns to him, his smile sliding into a look of consternation when he sees Zayn gulping for air. He comes over, laying a hand on Zayn’s back, brows pulled together.

“All right, all right, you can have your penalty once you start breathing again. I’m so sorry, I just got really into it and—”

“No,” Zayn wheezes. “It’s fine. Even if—I got it—we’d be playing for—a lot longer and—”

“And we’ve already been here for a while.” 

Liam rubs his back in slow circles that helps to ease Zayn’s breathing until he feels less like he’s gotten turned inside out and more like himself again. They’re quiet until Zayn straightens up and their eyes meet. Liam smiles and Zayn returns it, laughing lightly.

“You’ve won this time, Batboy, but you just wait for next time. You mark my words.”

“Yeah, okay.” Liam’s smile spreads to his eyes and Zayn is feeling it again, he’s feeling those butterflies in his stomach, invading his chest and throat with their fluttery wings. The air around him is magnetic and heavy, as if he and Liam have been dropped into an entire vat of syrup. The seconds seem to eke by.

He’s never felt like this before in his life, he’s sure of that.

“Okay,” Zayn whispers. He tips toward Liam, his palms itchy with the want to touch. A buzzing something is filling the space between them, building more and more now that the game is over.

But the game isn’t completely finished quite yet. There’s still one other thing to content with.

“So I won,” Liam remarks nonchalantly and Zayn nods.

“You won.”

“So that means I won the wager too.”

“Yeah, it does.”

Liam’s smile turns slightly sharper, more devious, and the butterflies in Zayn’s stomach are the size of African elephants, big ears and all. God, the only other time he can think of feeling this way was two weeks ago when he was waiting for this same boy to come to eat pizza with him. He’d almost laugh because of how much difference the time has made, but he doesn’t want to spoil this. He definitely doesn’t want to spoil this.

“Which means I get to do anything I want, yeah?” Liam presses on, his eyes wide and so serious.

Zayn licks his lips. The tension between them is building higher and higher, enough that he can practically feel it laid against his skin. He’s somewhat nervous because “anything” is a whole lot with nothing solid to give him a good idea of exactly what Liam wants—but “anything” is also really, really bloody exciting because it’s anything. The possibilities are actually endless. That’s more exciting than he thought anything ever could be.

“Yes,” he whispers. “That was the deal.”

“Just tell me if you want me to stop,” Liam whispers before his mouth catches Zayn’s.

The kiss is soft at first but they move closer and it turns harder. Zayn grips at Liam’s shoulders, liking how muscled they feel under his palms. Girls are all well and good but something’s always been missing with them and he thinks he’s figuring it out now. He’s finding he likes muscles and angles and harder kisses where he doesn’t have to worry about hurting the other person. He’s finding that he likes how Liam kisses him aggressively, tongue forcing its way past his lips. He’s finding that he likes how Liam clutches at his hip with hard fingers, dragging him closer so they settle tightly against one another. He’s finding that he likes being manhandled a bit and that he and Liam are of a height and they’ve just spent an afternoon playing footy and now they’re making out and this would never, never happen with any of the birds he’s been around.

Liam’s hand moves from his hip, fingers sliding up the line of his hip bone, burrowing beneath his shirt. He feels his fingers flatten against his stomach as they kiss, pressed chest to chest, heedless of whoever might be around them now. Liam has won the bet and he’s taking his prize and Zayn is in no place to stop him—not when kissing him is making him feel warm and loose and full of that buzzing, exciting energy.

And then Liam’s hand presses between the line of his shorts, hesitant, before he slides it under and over the top of Zayn’s pants.

Zayn freezes for a moment, more shocked than perturbed. He’s not used to someone touching him in public like this and he wonders wildly for a moment if the lads playing footy in the other field can see them but can’t get up enough embarrassment to care.

But something else is getting up.

Could you blame him though? Could you really blame him, especially when Liam is massaging him through his pants and they’re pressed tight together, kissing as if they haven’t any time left to them? Zayn’s hips unconsciously rut up against the hand so cleverly wrapped about him and he feels Liam’s laughter against his lips rather than hears it. He doesn’t even feel the inclination to blush because, _fuck_ , it feels nice and he’s already stiffening under Liam’s care. And he wants more. He wants so much more.

Liam’s mouth scrapes away and presses against his ear and Zayn is almost whimpering because it’s one of his weak spots. He wonders wildly if Liam knows that and that’s why he’s done it when the other boy speaks.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” Liam whispers, all hot breath, even if he’s still making sure all is well and okay. Zayn would kiss him again for it except now’s not exactly the time and place. Or is it? He’s feeling a little dizzy and confused right now. “Just tell me, Zayn, and it’ll be okay. I don’t want to make you feel uncom—”

“It’s okay.” It comes rushing out his mouth, as frantic as his heartbeat at the moment. “I don’t mind, Liam. I really don’t. Please, just—please.”

Their mouths meet again and Liam’s hand is moving beneath Zayn’s shorts. It feels good. It feels so, so good. All long fingers that know what they’re doing and know what to do. That’s a difference too. He’s had girls touch his cock and they’re unsure or too hard but this—this is good. This is very, very good.

Zayn is seriously contemplating just dragging Liam into the line of trees so they can have a bit more privacy, because he’s going mad from the want and from the need at the moment. He wants to touch and take more and more and the trees may not be the best idea but it’s close. He’s trying to think of some idea where he could manage to not kiss Liam for five seconds and drag him back into the foliage when a loud shout comes up from the other field. They pull away, startled, to see that some of the other lads have made what is apparently a decisive goal, from the way they’re carrying on. Zayn and Liam stare for a moment and then Liam’s hand slides away from its current locale—no, no, no, things had just been getting good, he doesn’t like that—and falls to his side.

When Liam looks at him, he’s smiling crookedly. “Reckon that was a warning, eh?”

Zayn sighs, head dropping a bit. Defeated. “Yeah, reckon so.”

Liam leans in to kiss him, butterfly soft, smile apparent again. “Wanna go get some lunch? There’s some great curry close by.”

“That sounds brilliant.” Zayn smiles back, because how could he not?, and falls into step with Liam as they find their things again and start packing up. Thankfully, his _condition_ is rapidly approaching normal again. “Hope there’s that really good drink there too.”

“What, like the one from last time?”

“Yeah. I loved that.”

“I noticed.” Liam throws him a look that makes Zayn’s stomach squirm. “Bet they will. Why wouldn’t they? It was ace. They’ve gotta know the secret.”

“I hope so. That’s half the reason I like curry now.”

Liam laughs and throws an arm around Zayn’s shoulders as they start walking back up the hill. “I’m sure it had nothing to do with who you went with last time.”

“No, none at all.” Zayn slants a look sideways at Liam and then bursts out laughing. “That may have been part of the reason too.”

“Good, because it was mine as well.”

That makes Zayn smile so hard his face hurts.

They walk back through the park, past all the families and the teenagers wishing they were as big of ballands as they’re trying to be. There’s laughter and shouts as all the people in their summer wear try to soak up the sun before fall begins and the rain obscures it again. It’s all nice, a scene right out of a painting, especially when the two boys lock hands as they talk, bags slung over their shoulders and a football in the crook of one of their arms.

———————————————————————————————

Zayn has decided it’s time that Liam met the other lads.

It’s only logical and it’s not as if it’s a bad idea. They’ll all be going to college together—albeit in different years—so it’d actually be nice for Liam to know some more people before his first day—which is rapidly approaching. August is about to burn out and September is all set up to take her place. School, and September the first, are only a week away now. So, they’ve all fixed to go out for some dinner and maybe a party later in order to hang out and get to know one another properly before the first day of class. Nothing could go wrong.

Right?

Zayn desperately, desperately hopes that nothing goes wrong.

He just—he really likes Liam. He likes him a lot. And he wants his friends to like him too. He’s not really worried about them acting like twats tonight, or not much, but he wants them to like Liam because _he_ likes Liam. It’s friend code and, even though he and Liam are just “hanging out” as far as the other lads know, it’s important because a friend’s opinion counts. Zayn knows Niall will be fine, because Niall literally likes _everyone_ , but he’s worried about Harry and Louis.

Especially Louis.

Louis doesn’t necessarily _try_ to be a dick most of the time, his sense of humor is just a little more—sadistic than most everyone else’s. He’s the sort who gets a laugh out of pushing someone, uniform and all, into the pond on their way to college. Come to think of it, that's actually something Louis _has_ done, and the memory of all his other hijinks that immediately spring to mind after that are only making Zayn fret all the more. If Louis decides to take the piss out of Liam, then Harry is sure to as well because they’ve been permanently attached at the hip since Harry came to college last year and Zayn really, really needs to stop worrying about all of this because he feels like he’s about to have a heart attack at age seventeen.

That has the potential to really put a damper on the evening.

He’s getting ready now and has already picked out, and discarded, at least three outfits.  Always the fashion conscious, everything has to be _just right_ and Zayn hasn’t achieved that yet. He’s not even close and, Jesus, he wishes this would be easier. But of course it’s not because he’s Zayn and this is his life and he’s pulling on another pair of trousers and wearily turning to face the mirror, having accepted it all long ago.

Someone knocks on the door and the noise has him rolling his eyes. He throws down the shirt he’s just grabbed onto his already cluttered bed, sure that it’s one of the girls or his mother at least, pestering him like they always have the knack for doing when he needs his peace. He stalks over and throws open the door, the words already sour on his tongue.

“I’ve already _told_ you—”

But he stops as soon as he sees who’s actually standing in front of him.

Liam smiles at him, one of those kind that reaches up to his eyes and makes Zayn automatically smile back. He can’t help it, not when it’s Liam, dressed in jeans and a button-up, standing in his hallway as if this is a regular thing.

“Thought I was someone else then?” Liam asks and Zayn can hear the laughter in his voice.

“Um…well….yeah.” Zayn rubs a hand over the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed to have been caught annoyed.

And then Liam laughs in truth and his eyes crinkle up a bit and Zayn knows he’s forgiven. “You going to let me in?”

“Oh! Yeah! ‘Course.”

Zayn steps aside so Liam can come into the wreck that is his room currently and hurriedly shuts the door behind him. It isn’t until the lock snicks and he turns around that he realizes with a sudden start that this is the first time he and Liam have truly been alone, with no one else there. He also realizes that he’s bare from the waist up. Liam must have noticed at least one of those things too because his smile has turned huge.

“I’ve never been in your room before,” he comments, looking around.

Zayn’s palms are sweaty so he stuffs them into the pockets of the jeans he’s apparently wearing out tonight to hide them. He looks around as well at the blue walls and the bed covered in discarded clothing, a glaring mess in his otherwise neat and orderly room. He can’t help from grimacing.

“I’m sorry, it’s not at it’s best right now. I couldn’t decide what to wear…”

Liam looks at him, smiling still, and Zayn almost shivers at the way his eyes slowly travel from the top of his head, across his bare chest, and down to his toes.

“I quite like what you’re wearing right now.”

“Yeah, well, I need a shirt and—”

“No, I like this.” Liam steps closer and Zayn’s eyes go wide. Oh shit. He sees what’s going on now and he’s suddenly buzzing with the weight of the other boy’s eyes on him. “I like this a lot actually.” Liam steps even closer, invading his space, but he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind at all when Liam is looking at him like that. “More than I should.”

“I—” But Zayn doesn’t have the chance to say anything else because Liam’s mouth connects to his in a kiss that sears his insides in a second. There’s a hint of the familiar taste of mint toothpaste but it’s lost in the fire that goes roaring through his blood.

They press together, familiar by now with this and with each other. Liam cups Zayn’s face in his hands, changing the angle they’re at so he can lick into him differently, tongue scouring his mouth. It makes Zayn shiver and then they’re moving and his back hits the wall, with Liam pressed solidly against him from the other side. Zayn’s fingers knot in the other boy’s short hair and he kisses him back just as aggressively, their tongues sliding and tangling together. His hips buck a little, making Liam laugh into his mouth, pulling back to look at him with eyes that have gone hungry and dark.

“Getting eager, are we?” he asks and Zayn does shiver this time.

“Yes,” he whispers.

“What time is it?”

Zayn checks the display of the stereo across the room. “Half six.”

“What time are we meeting your mates at?”

“Seven.”

Liam seems to consider for a moment before one of his shoulders jerks in a shrug and a wild look crosses his face. “We might be late.”

He kisses Zayn again, hard, making him go slightly dizzy from the intensity of it. Their hands are on each other’s faces and then Liam trails one down Zayn’s chest, pressing his long fingers against his skin, leaving trails of goosebumps as his hand winds down, down, down. He stops at the waistline of Zayn’s jeans as if to ask permission. Zayn tugs at Liam’s hair, loathe to actually pull away from the soldering of their mouths, but Liam gets the message. His hand slips beneath his jeans, massaging him through his pants, coaxing him to further arousal. Zayn allows it for a few moments, feeling himself respond almost immediately—thank you, teenage hormones—but he grabs Liam’s wrist after a time, making the other boy freeze. He pulls back, eyes wide, the apology already forming, but Zayn shakes his head.

“No, no, you’re fine. I just…” He glances down at the floor, feeling the blush that’s riding on his cheeks. He hates that he still gets awkward, even after all this time. “I just…”

“What?” Liam leans forward, automatically concerned. He’s kind of amazing like that, Zayn thinks. How he can switch from aggressive and horny to—this. To sweet and worried and, oh, god, could Zayn have ever have found a better boy?

He leans in to kiss him again and Liam accepts it, although he’s slow to respond. Zayn can tell he’s still confused and doesn’t blame him in the least. He just kisses him, tongue delving deeper into his mouth, and takes hold of his wrist, drawing his hand out from his pants. He can almost _taste_ Liam’s confusion until he lets one of his own hands trail down the other boy’s side. He massages his hip, thumb brushing against his hipbone, and feels Liam smile into their kiss, having caught on. Zayn takes it as the go ahead and mirrors Liam’s previous actions, sliding his hand down the front of Liam’s jeans until he feels the boy’s cock against his fingers.

It makes Zayn shiver again.

They’re kissing with their former hunger now and Zayn slowly works at Liam through his pants, feeling him swell against his touch. It’s a heady sort of feeling, really, knowing that he can get Liam as excited as the other boy makes him. It’s sort of powerful. He kisses down his throat and feels his low hum of response.

“Have you ever done this before?” Liam asks lazily.

“With another guy?” Zayn looks up at him, hand still down his trousers. He shakes his head infinitesimally. “No.”

“Mmmm, then I really can’t allow this.”

“What?” Zayn looks up again, confused, but Liam pulls his hand from his pants now and kisses him once, hard, before his mouth goes trailing down his neck and chest. Zayn feels more than a little off-balanced because of the turn of events, but Liam just kisses lower and lower yet until he’s kneeling and oh, _oh_. He gets it now and _oh_.

“Liam, you don’t have to do this,” Zayn rushes to assure him. “Not if you really don’t want to. I don’t expect you to. Besides, we’re going to be late and—”

Liam spears him with a wicked, brown-eyed look that has Zayn swallowing whatever else he was going to say.

“Best make it for a good reason then, eh?”

Zayn feels the tug on his zipper and closes his eyes, his breathing slightly faster than normal. He’s no stranger to this but this is the first time he’s ever had another bloke where Liam’s at so today’s just a day for milestones, apparently. He inhales deeply, reminding himself to relax, even though Liam is pushing his trousers down. He feels his fingers hook in his underwear until those are down too and then the air hits his thighs. He opens his eyes to look at Liam who’s looking at him again with that look on his face, the one where he clearly wants things to keep continuing but he’s holding back and editing himself.

“If you want me to stop, just tell me,” he says, repeating a phrase that Zayn has heard before. “I don’t mind, I swear. I just want to make sure that you’re okay with this.”

“Does it _look_ like I’m not okay with this?” Zayn arches a brow, glancing down at his own swollen cock standing at stiff attention between them.

Liam coughs out a laugh even though he manages to throw him a look of exasperation. Zayn is mildly impressed. “I’m saying if you start to feel weird at all while I’m going down on you, you can tell me to stop. My feelings won’t get hurt, I promise.”

“Liam, I’ve had blowjobs before.” Zayn sighs, trying to be patient. It’s difficult though, when Liam is _right there_ and his dick is almost aching with want. “I don’t think you generally get weirded out when someone has your cock in their mouth because we both know how bloody nice that feels.”

“Yeah, but this is your first time with a bloke and I just—I want you to know it’s okay if you get weirded out.”

“I’m not going to get weirded out.” Zayn stares at him for a moment and frowns. “Liam…I really really like you, you know that, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Liam colors slightly and shrugs. He looks at the floor instead of up at Zayn and this conversation is entirely too awkward but it feels like it’s got to be had because Zayn doesn’t like Liam thinking he doesn’t want this too. “I just don’t want you to feel trapped or pressured in to anything.”

“I don’t. Not even at all.” Zayn bends down, disregarding his current condition, and cups Liam’s cheek lightly. He watches him until the other boy’s eyes swing up to meet his. “I really like you, Liam, and I like where things are headed. It kind of did my head in before, honestly, but I like you. I like you a lot. That’s why we’re going out with my friends tonight.”

Liam looks kind of staggered by the flood of information that’s thrown his way but smiles, fingers threading through Zayn’s until they’re holding hands, Zayn’s still pressed to his face.

“I like you too. And I like where things are headed. I’ve just…I’ve never been someone’s first in a while, you know? The other guys I’ve been with lately have been with other blokes too and—and I don’t want to fuck this up.”

“You’re not going to fuck this up.” Zayn smiles. “For Christ’s sake, Liam, you make me more mental than anyone else has. I see you and everything goes all funny and wobbly and…I’ve never liked anyone as much as I like you.”

Well, he certainly hadn’t planned on saying that, but he’s glad he has when Liam’s eyes blow wide and his smile spreads, huge and all-encompassing, as if he’s just heard the best news in the world. Their hands fall from his face and Liam squeezes Zayn’s fingers tightly.

“I do too,” he whispers, flushed now but Zayn doesn’t think it’s from embarrassment. He really hopes it’s not from embarrassment after what he just confessed. “I’ve liked you more than I have anyone else and, fuck, it’s only been a few weeks but—”

“But talking to you is natural and fun,” Zayn interrupts.

“Yeah. Exactly. And—I don’t even know, Zayn. You just make me really happy, yeah? I’m so glad I ran into you at that party because I haven’t smiled this much since I was a little kid.”

“Me too.” Zayn laughs, amazed that their hot makeout has now turned into some kind of declaration of their feelings. Not that he minds—not when Liam is telling him he likes him just as much as he likes the other boy. “My sisters said they don’t even recognize me anymore, I’ve been smiling so much.”

“Well, it’s a lovely smile.” Liam winks and Zayn laughs again. “They should feel glad that they’re able to see it so much. I know I certainly am.”

“It’s only because of this one really fit bloke…”

Liam practically giggles at that and presses his free hand against Zayn’s face before he leans in and kisses him enthusiastically.

“Jesus, there I go again.”

It makes them both laugh, hands pressed together as they lean into one another, foreheads touching and breath mingling. They watch one another before they kiss again, soft and slow and warm. This is different than any other kiss they’ve had and Zayn stores it away so he can remember it years from now, when he’s old and gray and wrinkled, and be able to pull it out whenever he’s feeling down. He has the feeling the memory of it will already be worn thin by tonight though.

They linger for a few moments, content just to be together and share this with each other. Zayn feels a sort of contentment he hasn’t felt in a while, where all is right in the world and he has nothing to be worried about. He can feel Liam’s heartbeat from where their hands are connected and that feels right too.

“We should probably go,” he whispers, breaking the silence that has fallen between them. “We’re already going to be late as it is.”

“Probably.” 

Liam sighs and lets go of Zayn’s hand, fingers sliding against his as he pulls away. Zayn immediately feels emptier and wants to reinstate the touch as soon as it’s gone. Instead, he stands and pulls his pants and jeans back up, settling them back into place. Liam stands too and eyes the obvious bulge still straining against Zayn’s zipper.

“I’m sorry about that. Promise I’ll make it up to you?”

“I’ll only forgive you if you do.” Zayn leans in for a quick kiss and then eyes the wreckage of his bed hopelessly. “I still need to find a shirt...”

Liam turns to look at the mess of clothes too, lips pursed. He goes instead to Zayn’s wardrobe and throws it open, eyes raking the contents until he finds what he’s looking for. He reaches inside and plucks up a folded T-shirt, throwing it to Zayn before he goes back to searching what could easily be a rack of clothes at a shop. Zayn tries to not feel only a little self-conscious about it. He just likes clothes, yeah, and that means that he has a lot of them. Nothing to get upset over. Liam grabs a cardigan after a few moments of searching and throws that to Zayn too. Zayn recognizes it as the one he wore when they went to the cinema a few days ago.

“Wear that with the cardigan over it. It’s supposed to get kind of chilly tonight and you look hot in black.”

“Yeah?” Zayn bites his lip to hide his smile, fingers rubbing at the fabric of the black T-shirt in his hands. “Guess that means I’ve got to wear black more.”

“Yes, it does. Chop chop!” Liam claps his hands. “It’s ten ‘til and we’ve got to make a good impression on your mates. Let’s go!”

Zayn just laughs and does as he’s told, dressing quickly and putting on the finishing touches so he and Liam can leave and go to meet up with Niall, Harry, and Louis for food and fun.

He finds himself praying again that all goes well.

—————————————————————————

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Zayn rushes in, flushed from hurrying, his cardigan whipping slightly behind him. “There were extenuating circumstances though, I promise.”

Louis looks up from where he, Harry, and Niall are lounging in a booth, one brow arching drolly. He picks up a chip lazily from the basket in the center of the table and eats it before responding, his utter disdain completely apparent.

“We’ve been here for twenty minutes, Zayn,” he says, clearly not impressed.

“I know, I’m sorry, I had a clothes emergency.”

“Good thing we wear uniforms to school then, innit?” Louis smiles thinly and then looks over Zayn’s shoulder. His blue eyes go wider and his smile spreads to what appears to be genuine excitement. Zayn feels some proper relief at that.

“Hi there! You must be Liam. I’m so sorry that you got dragged in late by this nutter.”

Liam edges from around Zayn, smiling somewhat shyly as he waves. “Yeah, hi. And it’s not too bad. It’s nice to meet you lot though.”

“You as well. Now sit! Please.” 

Louis points to the other side of the booth, where Niall is lounging against the corner, sprawled out across the seat. Niall looks at Zayn who stares back at him intently until the other boy gets up with a huff, eyes rolling.

“I’ll get another chair,” he drawls and tromps over to a table to drag one over as Zayn and Liam slide into the vacated booth. Niall sits backwards across his chair, arms propped across the top. He reaches out to shake Liam’s hand.

“Hi, Niall, pleased to see ya again, mate.”

“It’s nice to see you again too.”

Harry is next, reaching out with a broad hand from across the table, smiling so big that his dimples flash. Zayn glowers a bit because Harry can be insanely charming when he wants to be and he isn’t going to brook any of that. Not tonight. Liam came with him and, even if the other lads think they’re just friends, he won’t have Harry—who’s made girls and boys alike fall all over themselves because of him—steal Liam away in any way.

“Hi, Harry. It’s nice to see you, Liam. We’ve heard a lot about you.”

Liam glances at Zayn who shrugs slightly, smiling ruefully. So he talked about Liam a lot—he thinks that Liam understands why after their conversation from earlier. Zayn watches and notices that Liam’s smile seems slightly larger and thinks that, yeah, he does get it.

Louis reaches out next, smiling winningly. Zayn watches him warily, on the alert for any sort of pranks or general Louis Tomlinson behavior. He loves the bloke—he’s one of his best mates—but he wants this to go smoothly and, well, Louis could be the wrench in that plan, even unintentionally…although, in Louis’s case, it would probably be intentional.

“Hi, Louis Tomlinson. It really is nice to meet you, Liam. Zayn’s been waxing poetic about his new friend the last few weeks. It’s about time we met.”

“I agree.” Liam rumbles with laughter. Beneath the table, he finds Zayn’s hand and holds tight. “Zayn’s told me some about you lot as well. I’m glad to finally put faces to the names.”

“Oh, come on now,” Niall interrupts. “Surely you’ve seen Louis’s face before on all the wanted posters? They’re all over the city!”

They burst into laughter at that while Louis sips at his drink and glares icily at them all until they are done.

“Are you quite finished?” he asks. “We’re supposed to be getting to know Liam here and making him feel welcome, not taking the piss out of each other.” Niall, Harry, and Zayn throw each other exasperated looks—really? who is Louis kidding?—as Louis clears his throat.

“So you’re going to be going to college with us this year, Liam?”

Liam shifts in his seat, squeezing Zayn’s fingers slightly harder. “Um, yeah. Twelfth year.”

“Brilliant! That’s where Niall’s at as well. I’m sitting for sixth form and Harold here’s a poor, lonely, little Year Eleven.” Louis drapes an arm over Harry’s shoulder as Harry smiles at him, close-lipped, before he pops a chip into his mouth and opens it to show the half-chewed portion to the other boy. Louis makes a disgusted noise and returns his arm back to his own personal space, flicking Harry in the ear before he does. “Are you excited then?”

“Oh, yeah, loads. It’ll be nice going to a bigger school and getting to know more people.”

Louis hums with agreement. Niall and Harry drag the basket of chips to their side of the table, allowing Louis to do the interrogating as they stuff their faces because they all know he’s the best at it.

“Zayn said you like football. You trying out for any teams?”

“Yeah, I might.”

“Any in particular?”

Zayn spears Louis with a look but Louis just shrugs, hands spreading wide as if to ask what he’s done wrong. Liam just continues on, unperturbed, which is really a feat to do under Louis’s interrogation process. Many a lad, and bird, has broken under the pressure before.

“Yeah, a few. I’ve been looking around a bit, trying to suss ‘em out. Might just try out for a couple of them.”

“Well, we play for the Blacks,” Louis announces airily. “So you should check into the club. I’m sure Zayn would _love_ to have you on the team.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Zayn frowns, feeling slightly uncomfortable. “‘Course I’d like to have another friend on the team.”

“I’m sure, mate, I’m sure.” Louis dismisses him in favor of Liam. “Really, though, we’re one of the better college-age clubs in the city. Couldn’t find a better one.”

“Except for the Cats,” Niall says through a mouthful of potato.

Louis sends him one slit-eyed glare. “They could _technically_ be considered better but we know what those bunch of _pussy_ cats are made of.”

Harry laughs so hard at that that he snorts and then starts to choke on his chips. Niall slaps him dutifully on the back until his breathing clears, a bored expression on his face. Zayn gives Liam’s hand a squeeze, wondering if he’s okay. It’s a lot to take in, he knows, but these are his best mates and there’s nothing he wants more than for Liam and all of them to get on well together.

“I see…” Liam rolls the words around in his mouth, as if considering what to say next. “I’d heard they were all wankers so I wasn’t actually that interested in them. Seems good now, I reckon.”

Louis smiles and nods and Zayn knows it’s from approval. “Good man, good man. Well, whatever you choose, I’m sure it’ll be a good team. It’ll be a shame though if we have to play against you because I’m sure Zayn will be quite put out.”

“What?” Zayn protests but Louis bulldozes right over him.

“It’ll be good having you around though, Liam. I like you already.” He smiles but there’s something else there, there’s an edge to it that Zayn can’t quite put his finger on—he just knows that it bodes trouble.

“I’m glad,” Liam replies, smiling easily. “Always good to have mates around.”

“Too true.” Louis nods. “Now, just one more question—are you fucking my best mate now or are you planning on doing that in the future?”

Liam freezes, mouth literally hanging open. Harry chokes on a mouthful of potatoes again and starts to gag. Niall doesn’t help him this time, too busy staring at the other boys, his eyes enormous in his pale face.

Zayn leans across the table, all too aware of the snarl he’s wearing. “ _Louis_ ,” he hisses. “What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?”

Louis flicks a glance his way, his face cold. “I’m asking Liam a question, Zayn—and I expect him to answer.” He turns to Liam again expectantly. “Well?”

“Lou,” Harry interrupts, slightly hoarse from his coughing fit. He seems for all the world as if he’s treading through a minefield looking at them all, unsure of exactly which of them is about to blow. “C’mon. We’ve just met the guy—you reckon now’s not really the time?”

“No, I think now’s the perfect time, Harry.” 

Louis doesn’t look away from Liam for a second. Liam, for his part, is giving as good as he’s getting, his jaw knit with the muscles standing out defined—even though he has a death grip on Zayn’s hand, enough so that his fingers are beginning to ache.

“Louis,” Niall attempts to interject. “Lay off mate, yeah? That’s pretty personal and—”

“And I must have been the only one to have seen dear Zayn and Liam holding hands since they sat down and, considering Zayn is one of my best mates and has never brought home a bloke to meet Mummy and Daddy before, I want to make sure Liam here knows what he’s getting into.”

Harry and Niall swing to gape at Zayn, their eyes as big as any owl’s. Zayn flushes, but doesn’t let go of Liam, as he fumbles for something to say— _anything_ to say—his mind racing for the right thing, the right tone, the right _everything_.

But Liam speaks first.

“If there’s anything happening with Zayn and me, that’s for us to know.” He leans forward, invading Louis’s space, more serious than Zayn has ever seen him. “But I do like Zayn and I’m not going to hide that. From any of you. If Zayn feels the same, you’d have to ask him about it—he’s your best mate.”

And then he leans back, letting the rest of the table absorb the bomb he’s just dropped. The silence lingers and Zayn waits, flushed and defiant, ready to fight even these three boys if they’re going to start getting arsey with Liam. He’s secretly desperate though and watches all of them, knowing this is the knife’s edge of their friendship. He’s never expressed interest in another guy before and he’s worried, he’s so very worried that his stomach feels like it’s at the back of his throat, ready to explode.

“Okay.” Niall shrugs and flips a chip into his mouth. “Sounds fair enough to me, mate.”

“We would’ve figured it out eventually,” Harry adds. “But being so upfront is cool.”

Zayn stares at the two of them, nonplussed, and turns to Louis, his best mate ever since he moved here, who’s wearing a satisfied smirk of cat got the cream proportions.

“Thanks for being honest, Liam. And taking me down. Not a lot of people have the balls to do it.” His smile turns larger and he leans across to shake Liam’s hand enthusiastically. “Like I said, I’m already beginning to like you.”

Liam is smiling as well and Zayn is wondering if it’s opposite day and he missed the memo. “I’m beginning to like you as well.”

“Good.” Louis nods and, just like that, Liam is accepted into their group. No blood, no fouls—all it took was saying he was interested in Zayn.

Which, now that he thinks about it, Zayn is wondering about.

“You…you guys haven’t said anything.” He stares down at the scuffed up wood of the tabletop then meets the curious eyes of his best mates, gathered round. His nerves are soft and wet wings laid against his throat.

“Whaddya mean?” Niall asks, mouth full per usual.

“About…well…” Zayn stares at the table again, not sure he’s going to be able to get the words out. The dents and scratched lettering on the table hooks him and pulls him in. He can’t do it, can’t say it. He can already feel his throat tightening up and his stomach clenching. Even Liam holding his hand and looking at him with puppy dog eyes isn’t helping. “About…”

“Zayn.” His head snaps up and he looks at Harry, who’s looking at him with his wide Bambi eyes. Zayn is frantic, hoping that he’ll solve it, that he’ll stop him from tying his own rope. “We know, mate.”

“What?”

“We know.” Harry sighs. “We know you’re not just into girls, not all the way. We’ve known for a while.”

“Yeah.” Niall shrugs, smile impish. “Leaves more of the birds for me, right?”

“It’s okay.” Louis sounds uncharacteristically gentle. When Zayn looks at him, he feels like Louis is trying to tell him something important that he’s not really catching on to. “We’re not going to stop being mates with you, Z, especially when you bring someone as cool as Liam seems round.”

“Oh.” Zayn stares at them and their honest faces, overwhelmed. He’s never felt this much love and acceptance in his life and just hopes he’s not going to cry. That’d be embarrassing. He settles for, “Okay” and hopes that they understand.

“Okay.” Harry nods, smiling at him encouragingly until Zayn smiles back.

The silence lingers for a moment before Niall slaps the table, startling them all. “Let’s get a fucking pizza now, yeah? I’m _starving_.”

They dissolve into laughter and talking, discussing what pizza they are going to get because Louis is picky and Harry hates mushrooms. Niall doesn’t care, he just insists that he’s _hungry._ Liam keeps his hold on Zayn and, if it makes him feel better, he’s not going to mention it, because he’s with his friends and he loves them so goddamn much and life is unaccountably good.

Especially when he’s leaving the loo later and sees Harry and Louis in the hallway, hands brushing, mouths crushed together in a fierce kiss. They pull away and smile at one another, eyes locked, before they slink from the shadows and make their way back to the table, acting like it never happened. But Zayn knows and he follows, that light still in his belly because he now has something to hold over Louis and he never, never thought the day was going to come.

And he also understands what Louis had been trying to tell him earlier. He understands so much now.

Zayn swears he’s so happy in that moment that he could _scream._


	2. Part II: Climax

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These are his friends. His mates. And his boyfriend. His _boyfriend_. And all of them are together in one place after a great night, a night full of laughing and jokes and more booze than any of them should probably be able to stomach but they’re all teenagers and that’s what you’re supposed to do, innit?
> 
> So who gives a shit.
> 
> Liam is happy. He’s so _damn happy_ that he wonders how he ever could have had the good luck to be where he is with right now, surrounded by these boys he’s come to love so much. He can feel the ginormous smile on his face and just laughs quietly, eyes closing as he snuggles closer to Zayn, silently mouthing along to the song that’s started playing, and slides his hand into the other boy’s so their fingers can lace.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _And I’m feeling good._

Change is a part of life and Liam’s definitely learned that since school began just a few weeks ago.

He’s gotten used to a new school, new modules, and all new people in that time, or at least done the best he can. Those same people might seem entirely too interested in _him_ because he’s new to them and, whilst he’s not exactly an introvert, he feels strange walking into a room and seeing all of the people in it look at him and wonder who he is. He grew up in an area where he at least knew most of the people he went to college with and now he sometimes feels like he’s drowning in a sea of new faces. A sea of new faces who look at him like the outsider. He’s come to learn the names of at least a handful of people in each class, which is helpful, but he still feels like he’s gasping for breath more often than not. He’s always been terrible with names and now he feels like he has to learn two hundred all over, on top of remembering where the bloody loo is when he needs it.

It’s just a lot.

At least he has Zayn—and Louis and Niall and Harry. At least he knows them. And at least there’s football and the guys who play it, all of whom he’s come to know rather well since it started two weeks ago.

He really fucking loves the sport. Loves the intensity, the fast pace, and the overwhelming adoration for it that the nation has. He really loves playing it too. Loves running for a ball and sidetackling some tosser so a teammate can steal the ball. He loves outracing someone to get to the ball before them. He especially loves acing a particularly tricky shot and feeling like he’s king of the world. He loves that, when he’s on the pitch, he doesn’t feel like the new kid anymore but part of a team; likes feeling like there’s some familiarity in the sea of newness he’s been thrown into.

He _really_ loves playing football with Zayn—and Louis and Niall—but he only checks Zayn out in his kit and wants to get him out of it, so he thinks he likes playing with Zayn just the slightest bit more. It’s one of the best parts of his day, even with all the inside jokes and desperate, pressed-for-time kisses they manage to snatch at school.

Which has caused problems.

James, the bloke that they ran into the first night they met, is a co-captain on the team alongside Louis. Whilst Liam and Louis get on famously, it’s been more—difficult with James. He’s a great co-captain and has done brilliantly inspiring the team and all that but Liam sees the _looks_. He’s used to them and he absolutely knows when he’s getting them, to the point where he could probably point to who they’re coming from without looking. It’s been a part of his life since he publicly came out as gay two years ago—he can spot the disgust and suspicion and, yeah, even the fear, from kilometers away. Especially since he got the same look from the guy when he first met Zayn and James saw them together. Friendly. Riding high from a really excellent time of snogging in the middle of the bloody street. It’s all the more clear though since James is actually _friends_ with Zayn and the rest of the lads and knows when something’s afoot.

Liam sees James look at Zayn the same way sometimes on the pitch and feels a bit of fear for his boyfriend. _Boyfriend._ If that isn’t the goddamn sweetest word, even if the consequences of it might be more than either of them had anticipated. Liam has heard the locker room talks, he’s heard the other lads on the team calling each other gayboys or fags. It makes him feel sick every time he hears it but he doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t want to have those same thoughts, ideas, and feelings directed his way—and he definitely doesn’t want Zayn, who has never dealt with them before like this, pegged with them either. That’s the highest thing on his priority list, making sure Zayn avoids it all.

So they keep their relationship to a minimum during practice and on the field. They try not to touch a lot, which has been a very, very difficult to remember. Zayn came up and hugged him—too long, too hard, too intimately— after he nailed a particularly great shot during tryouts and he remembers the feeling of tension that immediately mushroomed into the area around them. He remembers getting The Look from a few of the other lads and the conversation he and Zayn had that night about keeping their relationship to a minimum on the team. They didn’t want to rock the boat, Zayn said. They didn’t want to have anyone talking about them, Liam said. They shouldn’t touch, they agreed. They should just keep to being mates on the pitch and do what they wanted to do elsewhere.

It’s just so hard to remember because school is like an alternate reality where anything goes since it’s just the five of them on the team who all go to their college and Louis, Niall, and Harry don’t get too stroppy or pissed off when Liam and Zayn play footsie or sneak off to the loos for a quick blow in one of the stalls. They might pretend to retch or tell Liam to wash his hands afterwards, but they don’t _mind._

The whistle blows, signaling the end of practice. Liam stops watching the ball and jogs over towards where their coach is standing, the captains and other coaching staff at his side. Zayn immediately falls into line with Liam, looking gorgeous even covered in sweat and grass stains. Or maybe because of it. Is it possible to look even hotter because of it? Niall isn’t far behind and his blonde hair is a mess even though his smile is huge. He squeezes in on Liam’s other side and leans in close.

“This is it, lads! Good fucking luck! We’re gonna get it.”

Liam just nods, feeling the tightness in his throat. At his side, he can feel the nerves ricocheting off of Zayn’s body. If they were anywhere else, he’d hold his hand and rub the back of it to make him feel better but there’s no doing that here. He hip bumps him instead and smiles. Zayn returns it weakly and scrubs a hand over his face as if he’s trying to wipe his nerves away.

“I’m fucking bricking it, mate,” he whispers.

“You did brilliantly,” Liam whispers back. “You’re gonna make it. Don’t worry.”

Zayn has time to give him one miserable hangdog look and a weak smile before Coach Davis raises his hands and the chattering of the huddle immediately stops.

“You did good, lads,” Coach says gruffly, pinning them with one intense look. Liam’s a bit intimidated by Coach Davis, to be honest, especially since he heard he was scouted for Aston Villa back in the day, but the last two weeks with him has made him appreciate him too. He’s still a bit scary though and it’s clear he’s not the only one of the boys who thinks so. They’re all dogs sitting at Coach’s feet, begging for attention but also afraid of a slap.

Come to think of it, that’s how most coaches in Liam’s life have been…

“Very good,” Coach continues. “Lots of hustle out there today, I’m glad to see it. Now, I know you’re all squirrelly little shites but you’re going to have to sit through announcements before we talk about first and second string. So _behave. _” He pins them with a look that would have had younger lads shaking in their football trainers before he turns it over to their assistant coach and they can all breathe easier. For the moment.__

__Coach Granger steps forward and starts reading the announcements for next week but Liam honestly doesn’t hear a single bloody word of it. There’s a droning in his ears like bees and the nerves are starting to pinch at his insides now, making his throat all the tighter. Niall is bouncing in place on his right and Zayn is standing stock still to his left, eyes boring a hole into the ground in front of him. Liam swings an arm—it’s friendly enough and nothing more, he tells himself—around Zayn’s shoulder and squeezes. Zayn smiles at him wanly in thanks and then the other guys are clapping politely and they hurriedly join in._ _

__Coach Davis steps forward again and this is it. Oh god. This is it._ _

__Louis and James stand off to the side, hands behind their back. They already know they’re first string—obviously since they’re bloody captains—and Liam would hate them for that comfortability but it’s hard to when he’s already so nervous. He looks at Louis who nods at him lightly in reassurance but it’s not what Liam is looking for so he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes._ _

__The list for first string begins, read out by Coach Davis in his old man’s rough voice._ _

__Liam keeps his eyes closed because he’s bricking it now and he doesn’t want to make Zayn even more anxious too. His boyfriend is really worried about making the team and has worked all summer to get the spot he rightly deserves. Liam wants him to get it too—but he also wants to be on first string himself and he doesn’t know what he’ll do if he, Zayn, and Niall don’t all make it. And, of course, he’s going to be the last of his mates to find out his placement because it’s going alphabetically._ _

___Fuck. _Since when was “P” that far down?__ _ _

____Because first string is small, the names go fairly quickly. That’s the good thing, at least. Only two are read before “Horan” is and Niall is whooping and throwing his arms up in the air, earning a couple of snickers as well as some glares from their other teammates. Liam smiles at him, trying to be excited for him, but he’s starting to feel even more sick himself. What if he doesn’t make it? What if Zayn and Niall do and he doesn’t? He starts to feel dizzy from all the circles his thoughts are running in and takes another deep breath, though it doesn’t help much._ _ _ _

____Another three names are announced before “Malik” is called. Zayn’s jaw literally drops and Liam laughs at the look on his face. He claps him on the back, laughing even more because his boyfriend still looks nonplussed and it helps him forget his own stress, which has grown steadily worse. Another name is announced that he doesn’t hear and then “Payne” is called and it’s Zayn and Niall’s turns to thump him on the back in congratulations. Fireworks rocket into being and explode in glittering colors inside Liam’s head, great big balls of light that seem to be full of his own happiness. He smiles and throws his arms around his friends’ shoulders, squeezing them hard, happier than he could ever say. He feels lighter than air. He feels like he could float away if he let them go—but they made it! They all made it! Christ in heaven, they all made it. Thank fucking God. Louis beams from off to the side, looking far too much like some proud dad, and they made it, they made it, they made it. _They’re first string._ The rest of the names are called but they hear none of them, too busy beaming at one another to really care._ _ _ _

____Liam just knows he’s on top of the world._ _ _ _

______ _ _

—————————————————

The feeling hasn’t changed hours later, when they’re all at Louis’ mum-free flat, even Harry, all of them drunk and happy and loud. The music throbs—infectious—and Liam falls wholeheartedly into it. He and Zayn dance tightly together, foreheads touching and breath mingling. They don’t stop looking at one another as they bob and hips grind along to the beat. Liam couldn’t tear himself away if he tried. As if he would even _want_ to try. There’s a sort of hypnotic quality to Zayn’s stares and he can’t stop looking at his long lashes and the way his mouth is slightly open, lip a bit swollen from how much they’ve already kissed tonight. The snake caught in the snake charmer’s eyes or however the saying goes. It never made sense until he met Zayn and now he understands only too well just how the snake feels when it’s coaxed from its basket.

Liam is overwhelmed, again, by how lucky he is. He’s had a boyfriend or two but he can tell he’s falling fast and hard for Zayn—faster and harder than he ever has before. He likes his long hands. He likes how, when he actually laughs, his nose crinkles up and he leans into like he has to show just how happy he is. He likes how Zayn can be quiet and serious and thoughtful and a few minutes later be mental and loud and obnoxious. He likes that his boyfriend feels comfortable enough around him that he’ll show both sides. He likes that he gets to _see_ both sides.

He likes when they have time alone and their hands tangle and brush and they watch each other and laugh and talk and it feels like they’re always telling secrets and no one could _ever_ ruin it. He likes their kisses when they’re long and slow or when they’re fast and hurried like they don’t have enough time. He likes the feeling of Zayn’s hands running over his skin and how he greedily takes what he wants and offers up everything. He likes making Zayn’s eyes roll and his breathing stop and the little whine he makes right before he comes. Every single time.

Liam knows that he’s falling in love. He hasn’t told Zayn because he wants to enjoy it some more by himself, but he knows he is and, god, it’s a fucking amazing feeling. He wants to hold onto it, onto the secret glow of it for a while more, because he wants to be sure Zayn will actually smile that smile Liam has fallen head over heels for when he tells him—and maybe even return the feeling.

That would definitely be kind of brilliant.

Their dancing and staring is interrupted by Niall, who clings onto the both of them, his grin wild and his hair sticking up in three different directions as per usual. He has a bottle clutched in one hand as he begs them to dance with him because Louis is searching for more booze at the back of the cupboards and Harry is lounging in a chair and refuses to move. They laughingly agree because they’re too drunk to say no and dance to the steps that Niall teaches them, falling over themselves and laughing the entire time until they give up and fall into dancing with each other again because it’s easier. Zayn fits himself against Liam even though he’s just that much taller, hips circling to “S&M” or whatever song is playing, and Liam would write poetry to the feeling of Zayn Malik’s arse against his crotch if his poetry weren’t so shit.

It’s the thought that counts, yeah?

They find themselves in the tiny loo upstairs not much later, hands running madly over bodies as they kiss even more frantically. Liam can’t get enough, could never get enough. Sometimes he think he’d be content kissing Zayn for the rest of his life and has already foregone some coursework in favor of making out with his super fit boyfriend.

Could you blame him though? Because he thinks he’s _very_ justified in blowing off applied economics or whatever the hell his class is so he can kiss the boy who miraculously showed up in his life and has made him smile so much. Especially because Zayn is tall and athletic and fit as _fuck _and has eyes Liam could drown himself in. He also takes a certain egotistical pleasure in getting Zayn off—or even getting him hard—because he’s his first boyfriend and, well, that’s about as far as his poetry gets. He said it was shit before and he makes no apologies for it. It’s kind of hard to think more elegantly when he’s got someone as hot as Zayn Malik kissing him and making his body go absolutely mental.__

____

———————————————-

When Liam wakes up in the morning, it’s with several hickeys under his shirt collar that he didn’t have at the beginning of the night and the slight twinge of a headache from a hangover but his smile is huge nonetheless. He looks at all of his friends sleeping sprawled out on the floor, legs and arms thrown every which way—and Zayn curled toward him, fingers still wrapped around his—and smiles even bigger.

Liam wishes every weekend could be as good as this one. He wishes he could spend his every waking moment with these people, these boys, who have taken up such a huge space in his life.

There’s Harry passed out on the sofa, long arms tossed about and mouth open as he snores, dribble running a line down one side. There’s Louis curled up like a cat in one of the loveseats, his hair slightly messy and a crease from the armchair on his cheek but otherwise just as Louis as ever—especially because his face is turned toward Harry. There’s Niall on the floor, snapback over his face, spreadeagled like he landed there and he really may have. Bottles and cups surround them, evidence of the wreckage of their celebration from the night before. Liam thinks he even remembers Harry booting by the front stairs. Louis’ iPod is still playing and he can’t help but laugh because it’s playing some weird indie folk song he’d be willing to bet his life on is actually something of Harry’s.

These are his friends. His mates. And his boyfriend. His _boyfriend_. And all of them are together in one place after a great night, a night full of laughing and jokes and more booze than any of them should probably be able to stomach but they’re all teenagers and that’s what you’re supposed to do, innit? 

So who gives a shit.

Liam is happy. He’s so _damn happy_ that he wonders how he ever could have had the good luck to be where he is with right now, surrounded by these boys he’s come to love so much. He can feel the ginormous smile on his face and just laughs quietly, eyes closing as he snuggles closer to Zayn, silently mouthing along to the song that’s started playing, and slides his hand into the other boy’s so their fingers can lace. _And I’m feeling good._

—————————————————————————

“I don’t understand and I’m never going to understand because I’m _shit at maths._ ”

Liam throws down his pencil, aware that he's being obstinate but he can't help it. He knows he’s being stupid. He knows he’s being rude and acting like a little kid who hasn’t gotten their way but he doesn’t _care. _He’s exhausted from not sleeping the night before, he’s got a couple of sprained fingers from practice which makes writing even harder, and he’s got a blinding headache because of the problem that seems to be taunting him from between the blue lines on his paper. And he hates fucking maths. _Hates_ it, probably more than he ever has. Probably.__

__Louis sighs from across him and it makes Liam feel even worse. Louis’s only trying to help, he knows it, but it _doesn’t_ help when Liam doesn’t understand the problem and Louis doesn’t understand what it is that Liam isn’t understanding. They’ve been struggling for the last ten minutes on the same bloody problem and Liam’s done. He’s done. He’s given up any hope of passing maths at all this term because he can’t ever seem to get the problems to come out right. He follows the steps. He follows them to the letter—especially when the problems have actual letters _in_ them. No matter what he does though, his answers turn out rotten and are so off base that it’d be funny if he didn’t feel like tearing his hair out and chucking the book across the room before he lit it on fire and watched it burn._ _

__Louis isn’t improving the situation that much either._ _

__He’s taken it upon himself to help Liam out because he took the same class the year before and did fairly well in it. And he has been a help most of the time, a big one in fact, even if he isn’t being one now._ _

__“Just look at the problem, Liam,” Louis says, turning the book so he can read from it. “It says you have to find the value of x if y is equal to 3 and z is equal to 11. You just have to work backwards.”_ _

__“I did work backwards and the answer I got is 6, which you keep telling me is wrong.” Liam glares across the table at his friend, who seems to be enjoying this if the look on his face is any indication. “Why don’t you just _tell me_ what the bloody answer is and I can work it out?”_ _

__“Because that, my dear Mr. Payne, would be _cheating._ ” Louis flips his pencil through his fingers, smiling in a way that Liam can only call wicked. Or, as he likes to call it, Louis’ I’m A Twat face. “If I just _tell_ you the answers, you’re never going to figure it out for yourself and we can’t have that. That’s not actually learning, innit?”_ _

__Liam glares across at him, thinking about smashing his fist into Louis’ face and how nice it would feel. “Or you can because we’ve been at this for ten minutes and I’m about to break something.”_ _

__“Tut tut, Liam. Really? It’s just one little maths problem.”_ _

__“So why can’t you figure it out, huh?”_ _

__“Oh, I have figured it out. I just can’t get it through that thick head of yours.”_ _

__Liam is about to spring across the table and throttle Louis, actually and really _throttle him_ , when Niall comes bumbling up, smile on his face and drink glasses clutched in his hand. He squeezes in next to Liam and grins at the both of them, completely unaware that he just stopped one of his friends from being murdered. Liam makes room for the other boy and takes a deep breath, reminding himself that bodily harm isn’t a good idea—in public. He’s still tempted to duff Louis up outside if he’s given half the chance._ _

__“Got us some drinks, lads, to get us through all this studying.”_ _

__“It’d be better if there were any alcohol in it,” Louis mutters. Liam agrees._ _

__Niall’s shoulders jerk with a carefree shrug. “Can’t do it here so we gotta settle for this instead. ‘sides, there’s nothing wrong with some fizzy drinks to get through some coursework.”_ _

__“No, none at all,” Louis murmurs. “Well, Li, should we try and get through this maths problem again?”_ _

__“Yeah, yeah.” Liam scrubs a hand through the back of his hair and groans. “Might as well.”_ _

__Two hours later, they’ve all given up on coursework, although the papers and books remain scattered all over the table. They have drinks clutched in hand and remnants of pizzas and cheesy chips spread over everywhere. Liam’s even pretty sure Niall has some cheese in his eyebrow, though God alone knows how that happened. It’s Niall. He’s learned to accept the strange things that happen around him._ _

__They laugh and talk excitedly about the match they have in two days and how they think they’re going to do. Louis is confident that they’re going to win and Niall and Liam feed off of it, until they’re talking of the wild upset it will be and how they’ll smash the other team to bits._ _

__It makes Liam think of one particularly fantastic match he played with his former club team and he tells the other two boys excitedly about it, detailing every blow-by-blow and every attempted score until it seems like a giant battle and his team finally emerged, bloodied but victorious, at the end._ _

__“That was back in Wolverhampton, right?” Louis asks._ _

__“Yeah.” Liam nods. “We lived there my entire life until now.”_ _

__“What prompted the move?”_ _

__“My dad got a new job and my oldest sister went to uni and the other’s about to next year so it just made sense.” Liam shrugs. “It was a bit of an adjustment at first but it’s been pretty great so far.”_ _

__“Especially cuz you’ve got us, yeah?” Niall slings an arm around Liam’s shoulders and squeezes tightly until the other boy laughs and gives him a squeeze back._ _

__“You lot have definitely made it better, that’s for sure.”_ _

__“And Zayn.” Louis smiles knowingly._ _

__Liam can’t even summon up a blush because the other two boys have seen him and Zayn with their tongues well in each other’s mouths numerous times now. Harry even caught them with their hands down each other’s trousers once, as if that wasn’t the single most embarrassing moment of Liam’s entire life. They might try to be discreet on the pitch but they’re far from it around their mates. Which is the way it’s supposed to be, Liam supposes. It’s not like they’re going to hide it from them, least of anyone, although they do try to moderate it. Sometimes. Usually. When Zayn isn’t making him mad with want, which is pretty much ninety-eight percent of the time. He really does try though._ _

__“Yeah, and Zayn.” Liam grins. “But having friends like you guys makes it better too. I had a couple of close mates back home who’ve kept in touch and all that but I’m not expecting most of them to make the effort.”_ _

__“It’s a bit far.”_ _

__“Yeah. Speaking of—why the move to London for you, Nialler?”_ _

__Niall looks up, blue eyes wide, and swallows what looks like half a slice of pizza in one go. His shrug is as nonchalant as ever._ _

__“I dunno, mate. We moved—what? four? five? years ago now. Me mum and dad divorced when I was, like, little and I lived with both of them for a while before settling with Dad. My mum remarried an Englishman and it looked like the opportunities were better over here so here I am. My brother’s already grown and wanted to stay in Ireland with Dad so it was a no-brainer, really.”_ _

__“Opportunities for what?” Liam asks, genuinely intrigued. Niall doesn’t usually share much of his plans and Liam can’t say that he’s ever heard him mention them before._ _

__“Oh, you know, a bit of this, a bit of that.”_ _

__“Shove off.” Louis leans forward and tousles Niall’s dark blonde hair. “Irish over here is thinking of playing football professionally, aren’t ya, Nialler?”_ _

__“Well—yeah.” Niall shrugs again, cheeks looking a bit pink. “I know it’s a long shot, yeah, and I’m not nearly good enough for it yet but I’d like to be. I think I’d be better off for it too if it weren’t for my bloody knee.” He scowls a bit and chews on his lip. “I hurt it a year back ago now, pretty badly. Needed surgery and everything. It acts up from time to time, ‘specially when I get playing too hard, but it’s nothing a knee brace and some ice can’t fix. You’ve seen it. It’s right as rain after that.”_ _

__“And…and if you can’t play?”_ _

__“Dunno, mate. Probably uni. I don’t know what I’d do though. Right now I’m trying to get the football gig figured out.”_ _

__“You are really good though,” Liam says. “Brilliant even. I dunno why you didn’t make first string before this year. You’ve got the skills and the footwork for it.”_ _

__“Probably because I was still recovering last year,” Niall says without a hint of bitterness._ _

__“Oh…yeah…But you’re doing wickedly this year, mate. You can become a footballer if anyone can.”_ _

__“Thanks.” Niall smiles and Liam smiles back. Niall is one of those infectious people that you can never say no to. Liam has definitely learned that too. If Niall wants an ice cream, somehow they’re all going out. If Niall wants to go to a club? They’re all there dancing in the darkness alongside him. Liam has just come to accept it and let it happen because there’s no fighting someone who is so genuinely happy all the time. It just simply isn’t possible. He’s willing to bet that if anyone took a go at Niall, the poor blighter would be laid up in hospital for weeks were Liam and the rest of the lads to find him._ _

__“You’re doing pretty ace there too, newbie,” Niall continues. “Definitely got Coach looking at you hard.”_ _

__“Oh.” Liam feels the heat in his face and ducks his head. “Er, thanks? I’m just playing and trying to do my best.”_ _

__“It’s all ya can do. Who knows, maybe you’ll have an armband round your arm next year like Lou does.”_ _

__“Maybe, maybe.” Louis cracks a smile. “I certainly won’t be needing it.”_ _

__“What are you gonna do next year, Lou? I know you said uni…”_ _

__“Yeah.” Louis nods. “I need to take my A-levels this year and then see what universities are mad enough to take me. I’m looking mostly around London though.”_ _

__“What do you wanna do?”_ _

__“Theatre.” Louis says it so confidently that Liam wonders if he’ll feel the same in a year’s time. As it is, he only has vague ideas of what he wants to do with his life and he’s a Twelfth Year who’s sitting for three A-levels alone this year. It scares him a bit because Louis _knows_. He’s got it planned out. Even Niall, the most carefree of all these new friends he’s found, has some kind of idea of what he wants for himself._ _

__All Liam knows is that he thinks being a fireman could be cool, but it seems trifling compared to actual _plans.__ _

__“Theatre?” Liam prompts and buries his own personal unease. He’s got time. Plenty of time. More than enough time. Loads of it, in fact. He’ll figure his own shit out._ _

__“Yeah, acting full-time, hopefully. It’s why London would be a good idea. It’d be pretty easy to join a company—if I’m good enough. If not acting as a proper job, then maybe some other thing in the arts. There are loads of opportunities.”_ _

__“Yeah, yeah, sure are.” Liam nods like he has some bloody idea about the opportunities there are for someone with an arts degree and hopes the same question isn’t going to be posed his way. He doesn’t want to answer it and show them how hopeless he is. “I know Zayn’s interested in East London.”_ _

__“And he should be, shouldn’t he? I’ve heard their English department is ace.”_ _

__“Not so good for the teaching though,” Niall mumbles through another mouthful of pizza. What is he on now? Five? Six? “Heard Queen Mary’s better for that.”_ _

__“Isn’t that a rather hard place to get into?”_ _

__“Can be,” Louis answers. “Zayn’s got the brains for it though. The tosser’s all smarts under this quiet surface until you get to know him and then he never fucking shuts up. He’s devious that way.”_ _

__Liam laughs because it’s true. All of it. Zayn is brilliant and Liam’s known it for a while now. Whereas Liam struggles with just school itself, Zayn excels. He gets the good marks. He’s got it all, really. He’s fit, he’s made first-string in his football club, he makes excellent grades…and Liam hopes that, if people found out, they’d think he had an equally fit boyfriend too, even though he knows he doesn’t measure up where the smarts are concerned. But that’s okay. That’s what Zayn’s for. Too much intelligence would ruin their relationship. Besides, Liam loves hearing Zayn going off about a book he’s read that he loves or how he’ll analyze a song and pick the lyrics to bits. It makes him smile, because Zayn is adorable when he gets going—even though Louis might not believe it._ _

__“You’d never think so, because he looks like some brooding film star and then you get him to talking and he’s a complete nutter.”_ _

__“How right you are,” Louis murmurs and Liam _does_ blush this time because he didn’t mean to say that he thinks Zayn is so good-looking. “He’s a total madman.”_ _

__“Especially when he’s pissed.”_ _

__“Remember—remember the time that we were all drinking at the park and he got on the swings and jumped off and we thought he was going to break his fucking legs?” Niall waves his arms excitedly and almost smacks Liam in the face with one hand. “We all ran over to make sure he wasn’t, like, bleeding out and dying and he was rolling on the ground, laughing like an idiot, and told us it was so much fun and we had to try it and, Liam, you got mad and smacked him and told him he was an idiot and then kissed him and went and jumped off the swings to make him happy.”_ _

__“Oh—well—I—”_ _

__“You’re totally gone over your boyfriend and you’re so happy that it makes my teeth hurt?” Louis looks over, brows raised high, before he laughs and clutches Liam by the shoulder. “No worries, mate. We’ll keep your secret. I think Zayn’s so blinded by the little hearts in his eyes he doesn’t see the ones in yours.”_ _

__Liam’s stomach jumps up into his throat and his heart is somewhere tangled in there too, beating so hard and fast he wonders that his entire body isn’t throbbing with it. His throat is dry and tight and he’s so excited that he feels slightly dizzy._ _

__“Really?” he breathes and leans forward, eyes huge. “You really think that?”_ _

__“Of course I do, you twat.” Louis gives him a tiny tap on the cheek. “You’re both so ga-ga over each other that we’ve all lost a meal or two because of it.”_ _

__“Really? Oh. I’m so sorry. We’ll try and—”_ _

__“It was a joke, Liam,” Louis tells him lightly. “Just a joke. We’re actually all very happy for you. Zayn’s been a mate of mine for a long time and I like you as well so seeing the two of you making each other happy is a good thing… Although I could do without knowing what either of you sound like when you come.”_ _

__Liam blushes furiously and decides to ignore that last part. “But it’s good, yeah? That we make each other happy?”_ _

__“Very good.”_ _

__“Yeah, and I like having someone else to play football with and kick arse with on the Xbox.”_ _

__“It is fun playing with you, Niall.”_ _

__“And beating _your_ arse is even more fun.” Niall grins impishly and elbows Liam lightly in the ribs. “It was getting boring with the other lads.”_ _

__“Glad to be of service,” Liam mutters and makes the other two boys laugh._ _

__“It’s just nice having another mate around, ya know? And seeing that our friends make each other happy is even better.”_ _

__“I’m glad you lot all think so.” Liam glances down into his lap, at his fingers clutched tight together. “I—I was worried about it. A lot.”_ _

__“Why?” Niall looks over at him, so genuinely puzzled, that Liam can’t help but cough out a little laugh._ _

__“Why? Because you’re Zayn’s best friends and I didn’t want you to hate me.”_ _

__“Why would we ever hate you?” Niall frowns. “You’re pretty brilliant, mate.”_ _

__“Well, thanks.” Liam looks at the two of them and feels his heart swelling up again. He realizes, again, just how much he’s come to love these new friends of his and how he feels like he fits in without even having to try. It’s an amazing feeling, that. “I kind of think you guys are brilliant too.”_ _

__“You’re not going to tell us that you’re in love with us as well, are you?” Louis looks at him skeptically, slight disgust making his lip curl. “Because, no offense, mate, we’re friends and everything but we’re not _that_ good of friends.”_ _

__“No, definitely not in love with you.” Liam shakes his head. “We’re just friends, that’s all. Promise.”_ _

__“Good. I’ve seen you snogging Zayn and you use way too much tongue for me.” Niall smiles at the both of them innocently when they turn to stare at him. “It’s true though. It looks like you’re both trying to choke each other with your tongues usually.”_ _

__“I—”_ _

__“You know, that is kind of true… I’ve kind of wondered how the both of you are able to talk or even breathe after you’ve had one of your hot and steamies.”_ _

__“I—” Liam fumbles for words again but stops because what do you say to that? There’s nothing. He can’t think of anything. He can’t think of a comeback or a casual agreement or, well, anything at all to say to that. So he just—doesn’t._ _

__Louis smiles at him, all devilish teeth and bright eyes, and reaches out to ruffle his hair. “Aww, no worries, Li. We’re not going to give you too much shit over it. It’s just fun now and again.”_ _

__“Even if it’s true,” Niall murmurs under his breath._ _

__Liam decides that laughing is his best option because the teasing can, and has, been worse. It seems to work because Louis scrubs both his hands over the back of his hair, making it all stand up at crooked angles. He exhales loudly._ _

__“All right, lads. Let’s finish this fucking coursework for the night so we can get done and be ready for it all again tomorrow. Besides, Coach is going to be going over drills and plays tomorrow during practice enough to make your head hurt.”_ _

__“Sounds good to me. I’m ready for more head hurting so long as I get all this maths coursework done.”_ _

__“Come on, we’ve had a break. I’ll help you again. We’ll get it.”_ _

__“I hope so.”_ _

__Louis looks up at Liam, his smile one of those rare ones where he’s not teasing or joking but is legitimately, one hundred percent serious. “We will, Li. Don’t worry. We’re gonna get you through your maths this term.”_ _

__“Thanks, Lou.”_ _

__“Sure.” Louis bends over Liam’s book and Liam joins him as Niall unearths his own coursework and they head back to it, eating and laughing and talking even as they do. Liam takes the bus home when they’re done and sits in his seat, bag over his shoulder and pizza grease on his fingers, smiling happily. He thinks of what will happen when he sees Zayn tomorrow and tells him all about his night with _their_ friends; he thinks of telling him all about hanging out with Louis and Niall on his own._ _

__Like he’s really one of them too._ _

____

——————————————————————————

They end up winning the match, and their next one, and the one after that. It calls for a celebration and the whole team joins in, excited to let loose and blow off some steam. They go to one of the lads’ houses and break out the drinks and the music, set to dancing and drinking the night away. The music is loud and hard, all synthetic drum machines with slick lyrics and rappers cursing their way through life and love, the bass like a second heartbeat thudding through their bodies. There’s plenty of beer and whatever other alcohol anyone could want to go around and they all clutch bottles or cups, laughing and talking, celebrating a season that has to far been a winning streak for them.

Liam watches Zayn dance and drinks too much trying to distract himself from the way the other boy’s hips move. He wishes in a way that aches that he was there right next to him, dancing into him, feeling his arse against him, feeling his body moving in time with his own. Hands on back, on neck, on chest, on waist. Lips on lips, on neck, on shoulders. He drinks more, trying to forget it, and ends up thinking of it even more because of the alcohol.

He stays off to the side, talking with Niall, dancing with him, whilst Louis preoccupies himself with Zayn. They’ve picked up on his and Zayn’s _predicament_ and, ace mates that they are, have even been trying to help in the Liam And Zayn Are Just As Straight As You Mission. Is it a mission? Or is it a farce? And what’s the difference? They’re both games where he and Zayn are hiding, hiding who they are and _what_ they are. What they are to each other, what they’re doing… They’re hiding behind testosterone and jokes and not saying anything when the jokes hit too close to home—do they for Zayn too? does he feel the same anger in his throat and the feeling of knives in his stomach when he has to swallow it down?—all so their lives will be easier. Less hard. All so they can be a part of something so they won’t be set aside— _apart_ —from everyone else on the team. So they won’t be ostracized. So they won’t be treated differently. For his part, Liam doesn’t much care. He’s dealt with it for two years now and he knows how it can go.

He just doesn’t want Zayn ever, ever experiencing that.

So, he goes along with it and dances and talks with Niall, which isn’t hard. Even Harry is there and hanging out with them, although Liam can tell he’s distracted. He stops counting the number of times he catches Harry looking over his shoulder when he gets to ten and just laughs, elbowing Harry lightly.

“You find someone you like over there, Styles?”

Harry flinches and looks at Liam almost guiltily, though he shrugs to hide it. “Just looking. You know.”

“Because I would understand if there was someone over there you were looking at.” Liam just smiles at Harry until Harry relents, eyes rolling, and throws an elbow at him too.

“You’re such a dick. And I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Mmmhm.” Liam hums around the next sip of his drink.

Niall glances between the two of them, slinging one arm around Harry’s waist and lolling against him. He’s drunk more than either of them and, even if Liam were going hard, Niall would still be able to hold his own. It’s the Irish in his blood and it’s entirely not fair, as far as Liam can tell. Only Niall can put away an ungodly amount of alcohol and still wake up just as cheerful in the morning for it, whilst the rest of them would probably be dead.

“Are you and Lou still trying to be all secretive?” Niall asks, only slurring a bit.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Harry raises his cup to his mouth as Niall and Liam share a look.

“Yeah, okay there, Curly.”

“Uh-huuuh.”

They don’t press the issue though because it’s clear that Harry won’t be saying anything else. Liam knows Harry and Louis are _involved_ , at least, even if they aren’t confirming anything. Everyone in their little group of friends knows but they let it be. If Harry wants to stare at Louis from across the room then so be it. It’s his decision. As long as he’s happy—as long as they’re both happy—Liam doesn’t have a single problem with it, and he doubts that Zayn and Niall do either, all things considered.

They drink more. A lot more. Somehow, Liam finds himself part of a giant game of King’s Cup that half the party seems to play. He ends up proper smashed from it, head spinning because of the three drinks he downed during the course of the game—on top of everything else he’s already had. Maybe it’s why he loses his focus. Maybe it’s why he forgets the _reason_ he and Zayn aren’t supposed to be looking too friendly. However it happens, he forgets, because Zayn is Zayn and Liam can’t help himself. He watched him during the entirety of the game, stomach tight because his boyfriend looked so _fit_ with his hair a mess, sticking out at different angles, and his jumper hanging off his shoulders. So maybe that’s why too, because Zayn is so hot it makes Liam’s head swim and it was already swimming from all the drinks he had.

So he gets up and goes to join Zayn where he’s dancing, not another thought in his fuzzy mind except that he wants to be closer to the boy who makes him feel warm and happy and a little bit fuzzy everywhere else too. Zayn looks up, laughing, and catches Liam’s eye and he’s hooked—line and sinker or however the hell it’s supposed to go. He just knows he’s caught and there’s no backing out because Zayn doesn’t look away for a second and Liam can’t think. _He can’t think._

They slide together, fingers brushing against wrists, and start dancing like they had done at Louis’ flat not too long ago. Some remix of a Justin Timberlake tune is playing and Liam might really love him but he doesn’t give a shit because Zayn is watching with his dark eyes and their hips are circling and shit shit shit but he loves this. Wants more of this. Wants _more_.

Liam loses himself in the beat, in the motion, and in Zayn.

It seems like they’ve only been dancing for seconds. In the recesses of a mind filled with cotton, Liam feels the inkling of wanting to kiss Zayn and is just considering going for it when he’s grabbed by the wrist and yanked back.

“Hey!” Liam yells before he even knows who it is. It doesn’t matter. He’s going to push them away regardless and go back to Zayn because he’d been _dancing_ with his _boyfriend_ and it was more rude than he could process right then for someone to take him away from that.

But when he turns around, it’s Harry holding his wrist, Harry with worried eyes and the crinkle of a frown between his eyebrows. It makes most, though not all, of Liam’s irritation melt away.

“Now’s not the time.” Harry leans forward, talking as lowly as he can over the noise of the music and the chatter. He squeezes Liam’s wrist as if he’s trying to get him to pay attention. It stings. “Not here, Li.”

“What are you talking about?” Liam feels like he should know. He feels like he really ought to know what Harry’s talking about but he can’t quite figure it out. All he knows was he’d been dancing one second and then Harry had stopped him and he can’t figure out _why_.

“Mate, you and Zayn…just not here…all right?” Harry eyes him and Liam notices for the first time some of the stares they’re getting. There’s some whispers too, guys leaning together to press their mouths to each other’s ears whilst girls stand in groups and stare. 

Shit.

Liam glances over his shoulder at Zayn. The other boy is standing in the exact same place but he’s staring at his trainers and even in the darkness Liam can see the pink flush on his cheeks. He feels stupid then. He feels slow. He feels like a drunk tit. He looks at Harry, knowing it’s all over his face because he can’t ever hide it, and Harry lets him go with a small smile.

“It’s all right. It’s okay. Just—just not here.”

And he knows why now. He remembers why. _James._ He glances around to make sure the co-captain isn’t there watching but his stomach drops down to his toes. He feels rooted in place. James has his arms crossed over his chest with the most disgusted look on his face Liam has ever seen. He’s staring at Zayn and a few of the other guys give him furtive looks as well. Zayn doesn’t see though, still engrossed in the makeup of his shoes. So James turns and looks at Liam, who stares helplessly back, feeling like he’s literally just been caught redhanded doing something wrong. James takes a step forward, lip curling.

“You _fucker._ ” Everyone quiets down as soon as they hear James yelling. He doesn’t seem to notice or care that the entire party is listening. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, huh, fag?”

Liam flinches at the word, head swimming sickeningly when he remembers the other times those words have been directed his way. He feels sick and his stomach pitches as the nausea threatens from the intensity of the memories he’s experiencing all over again. He feels someone move closer and know it’s Harry. He doesn’t see Niall doing the same or Louis coming over from across the room.

“I—” He stutters and fails. He can feel the sick lying at the back of his throat, threatening to spew. “I didn’t—”

“You didn’t what?” James takes another threatening step forward. “You didn’t think anyone would notice you dancing with Zayn and acting like the fag you are?”

“Mate, that’s not okay,” Harry interjects and James swings to look at him.

“What, you gotta problem with it, Eleventh Year?” He sneers. “Why don’t you tell us how much you love blokes, Liam. Tell us about how you get yourself off thinking of fucking them.”

“I—” Liam can actually feel how hot his face is. He looks over at Zayn for help but Zayn is still staring at his trainers, though his hands are in fists at his sides. “I don’t. I—”

“What, can’t talk over the cock in your mouth?” James leans forward, a handful of centimeters from Liam’s face. “We’ve all seen you, batty boy. Seen the way you’re looking at my _mate._ Like you just really want to _stick it_ to him, yeah?”

Liam can’t breathe. He’s faced things like this before. He faced even worse at school once he was out but this…This is unexpected and he’s proper, full-on smashed and can’t focus and it’s making it all so much worse. It’s like he’s swimming through molasses.

“James, it’s not that way at all. We just—”

“We’re just mates.” Zayn looks up and comes over to Liam’s side, chin raised, his eyes gleaming with something Liam’s never seen. His hands are in fists at his side. Liam can see that his knuckles are white. “You got a problem with that, James?”

James stares at him, snarl still etched into the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, maybe I do.”

“Then you’re gonna have a problem with me too.” Louis steps up and there’s pure violence like slashing lines all over his face. He’s much shorter than the other captain but he doesn’t seem to care. He steps right up to him and jabs him in the chest with bruising intensity. “If they’re mates then they’re mates and they don’t need _your_ goddamn nose in their fucking business.”

James glares at Louis who glares back. Liam swallows hard and remembers that he’s not usually so fucking timid.

“We’re seriously just friends,” he says lowly, even though it kills him a bit inside. They’re so, _so_ much more than that but he doesn’t want Zayn to ever have the words thrown at him that he just did. How could he have been so _stupid?_ “I know you think I’m gay and it’s whatever but I promise that Zayn is just one of my best mates.”

“Fine.” James turns and spits on the floor. “Fine, just fine.” 

But it’s not. It’s not at all. He glares at Liam one last time, ignoring all of his mates who are—God _fucking_ bless them—standing at his side and turns, disappearing into the crowd of other people. It's a silent promise of retribution and Liam knows it. It’s a silent admission too—Liam didn’t deny actually _being_ gay and James knows, knows it and will remember. The other guys on the team all turn away to. Someone cranks up the volume on the speakers again, and they pretend like nothing ever happened, even though Liam’s world has just been rocked and he’s shaking so badly that he has to shove his hands into the pockets of his jeans to hide it.

“Let’s go.” Louis turns to them, aggression still there, but hidden, just boiling beneath the surface. Liam isn’t sure he’s ever loved a friend more, even if he feels somewhat scared himself. You don’t fuck with Louis Tomlinson, that much is clear. “It was getting too crowded and lame anyway.”

They leave, all of them, and don’t say a word to each other until they get outside, onto the walk, with the dark night sky above them and the brisk air of October on their faces. It smells like it’s going to rain soon. Harry mentions he’s hungry and Niall suggests an all-night breakfast shop that they head to without another word. It’s not until they’re several blocks away that Liam takes Zayn’s hand and whispers, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He says it all night—whilst they walk to the shop, whilst they’re eating, whilst they’re in the loo at the restaurant and the sink is digging into Liam’s back and they’re kissing like they can’t stop and Zayn is shaking.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too. I’m so sorry.”

————————————————

Liam tries on another shirt and then tosses it aside onto the small smile that’s gathered at the foot of his bed. He’s frustrated and he’s trying not to be. Nothing _looks good_ though and that shouldn’t matter but it does. The last time that he and Zayn went on a date, a legitimate _date_ , was weeks ago. They’ve hung out—there’s no way they can’t—but it hasn’t just been the two of them with nothing but necking on the agenda for a long time. And he wants to look nice. Because it’s Zayn. And he’s tired of his boyfriend seeing him in uniform—whether it’s for school or football—and he just wants to look good.

He ends up shrugging on a Batman shirt because why the hell not and throws a snapback on because his sodding hair isn’t cooperating either. He fixes the lay of his shirt with a frown and stares at himself in the mirror. He looks decent enough, even if he feels underdressed. Underdressed for the cinema; that’s a laugh. He grabs a jumper that zips up because it’s cold enough to freeze your nads off and calls it sorted.

A shout comes echoing down the corridor, making Liam’s heart slam into his throat. “Liam, babes! Zayn is here!”

Liam watches himself inhale in the mirror and then nods, high fiving his reflection. “This is it, bro. Time to see Mr. Gorgeous.”

He rushes down the hall, heart still well above where it should be, but Zayn is waiting and that’s important and worth rushing for. Liam fairly runs runs the last three steps and then there he is, smiling that little smile that Liam knows for a fact is his shy one. His hands are in his pockets and he’s wearing an outfit similar to Liam’s, thank God, complete with a shirt that has a Stepbrothers quote on it.

“Hi.” Liam feels his heartbeat in his words and feels it in his eyes but doesn’t care because his boyfriend is here and he’s fit and _he loves him he loves him he loves him._ So much. Ridiculously much. Maddeningly much.

“Hi,” Zayn responds and then smiles, the huge one that seems to light up an entire room. Liam reaches out and their hands meet and then tangle. Palms squeeze and it’s only then that Liam’s heart returns to where it’s supposed to be. “You all right?”

“Awesome.” Liam smiles, glancing behind him to see where his mum is at. She knows he’s gay and fully accepts it, but he doesn’t like doing the whole PDA thing in front of her. Never has. When he sees her in the kitchen—probably making a cuppa even though they’re not staying long—he leans in and presses his lips to Zayn’s. Soft, so soft. Another hello. “You?”

“Great,” Zayn breathes. They smile at each other, eyes on eyes, eyes on mouths, and kiss one more time before stepping back, even though it lingers. Liam can’t feel his chest or his fingers afterwards, but it’s a feeling he’s gotten used to, just as much as he has the phantom feelings of Zayn’s hands.

“Well, don’t you two look the lovebirds.” Liam’s mum comes back, smiling brightly. She has a mug in hand, but thankfully it’s only one. Liam flushes and sees Zayn doing the same from the corner of his eye.

He coughs. “Mum—”

“What? I’m not allowed to tell you that you look quite the couple? Because you do.” She’s smiling so big and Liam knows it’s all because she’s happy, happy that he is and happy that Zayn is the one who’s making him feel that way. Mums are like that. “Off to the cinema tonight, are we?”

“Yeah, we thought we’d watch a film and then maybe get some dinner.”

“Well, be safe, the both of you. Never know what those pikers will do—or the bloody tourists.” She leans in and kisses Liam’s cheek, leaving behind the light smell of her perfume. “Let me know when you get home, Liam.”

“Okay.”

And then she leans in and kisses Zayn too and Liam feels like his heart is about to explode because his mum has never, never done this with the other boy or two that he dated. Not even the odd girl or two at the beginning. Judging from Zayn’s ginormous eyes, he’s just as surprised and taken aback to be kissed by his boyfriend’s mum too.

“And you, you take care of my boy.” She says it with a pointed finger and an affectionate smile.

“Yes, ma’am, I will.”

“And you take care of Zayn too, Liam. The both of you are far too good-looking for your own good.”

“ _Mum—_ ”

She waves him off. “I’m allowed to. I’m your mother. Have fun, yeah?”

“Okay.”

Liam leans in and hugs his mum, hard, kissing her cheek again as a way of saying thanks. He thinks she understands because she squeezes him back slightly harder than usual and then ushers them out the door, mug of tea still in hand.

When Zayn holds his hand in the lift, Liam knows it’s his way of thanking him too.

They walk to the cinema since it’s not far from Liam’s flat. They talk the entire time, words flying in the air to fill the small space between them. They talk about football and the matches they’ve played and the one coming up in a few days. They talk about their friends and how Louis and Harry are still skulking around thinking that they’re so clever about hiding what they’re doing. They talk about the classes they have together and the paper that’s due in two weeks that Zayn has an outline for and Liam hasn’t even thought about. They also hold hands the entire way and kiss on the kerb waiting to cross the road at one point. Liam, once again, can’t believe how lucky he is because he’s never experienced anything so real and so amazing in his life.

They buy tickets to an action film full of explosions and fast cars and corny one-liners. Zayn buys the popcorn and Liam gets an extra large fizzy drink. They actually watch the movie, even if they hold hands the entire time, and rave about it the entire walk to a small, hole-in-the-wall curry house Zayn knows of afterwards. They still talk about it when they sit down, particularly the gory massacre that happened halfway through, and Liam just smiles, watching Zayn’s eyes light up, and how he talks with his hands because he’s so excited. Unable to help himself, he leans across the table and kisses the other boy mid-sentence. It’s quick and when he returns to his seat Zayn is staring at him with wide eyes.

“What was that for?”

“You.”

“Me…what?”

“Just being you.” Liam smiles, unable to help himself, and takes a big breath. Here it is. Moment of truth. Do or die. He doesn’t know if he should do it, but he’s waited for _forever_ and he’s not really known for his patience. He can’t hold it in a second longer. And after the football party and the weirdness that hung between them for a few days, now seems like as good a time as any. “I love you, Zayn.”

“I—” Zayn swallows. Liam feels a moment’s panic, wondering if he should have waited longer. What if he says he doesn’t feel the same way? What if he’s scared off by it? Zayn clears his throat and then smiles the biggest smile Liam has ever seen on his face, looking up so that they’re looking each other square in the eye. No turning back. “I love you too, Liam. I love you so much.”

“I love you,” Liam whispers, “I love you, I love you, I love you.” A little thrill races through him every time he says it because he’s kept it hidden for so long. And because Zayn does too, because Zayn Malik loves him too. It’s like he needs to say it now, as many times as he can, to make up for all the weeks where he hadn’t and should have. Especially after that party. Especially after Zayn cried and Liam pretended not to see, even if he could taste his tears long after they went home for the night.

They lean across the table again to kiss, mouths brushing above their curry and drinks. Liam doesn’t know how long it lasts and doesn’t find that he cares if anyone is looking at them either. They can just fuck right off as far as he’s concerned. He’s been waiting to tell Zayn for what feels like an eternity and then he did and…Zayn loves him too. It’s a lot to wrap his mind around, especially when he feels like the entire sun is living inside his chest. But he loves Zayn and Zayn loves him and everything, _everything_ , seems perfect in spite of the other shit going on in their lives, because they’re Liam and Zayn and they love each other.

Official and proper like.

They eventually continue eating, but keep smiling at one another and touching each other’s hands and kissing when they feel like it—which is a lot. Zayn even palms Liam through his jeans beneath the table with his foot, until Liam jumps and bangs his knee against the Formica so hard that he spills their water glasses. And that, of course, sends them into a fit of raucous giggles that they receive dirty looks from other customers for and their waiter too when he comes by with a dishtowel. Somehow, finally, they finish their dinner and pay and take off into the night, having left a large tip for the poor sod who had to deal with them. As soon as they’re outside of the restaurant, Liam drags Zayn into him and kisses him, intent, exploring the taste of the sweet curry he’d had, his hands knotting in the back of his jumper. Zayn is just as eager and presses even closer, kissing Liam back hard enough that Liam can feel his every angle against his own body.

And…and…

They go skipping off, laughing wildly. The night is theirs for the taking and they lose themselves in the crowds of London, blending in easily. It’s exhilarating, not knowing anyone around them and being swallowed whole by the rest of the people. They stop in storefronts so they can snog again and the owner of a bodega even yells at them but they just go running off again, hands gripped tight, laughing their heads off because everything is funny when you’re in love and nothing can touch you. Hours seem to melt by and they should go home but it’s just the two of them having adventures and the times of their lives so home, and end to the night, can wait.

They go into a costume shop open this late because it’s the weekend in London and try on one ridiculous mask after the next. Zayn tries on a pair of mouse ears at one point and Liam googly-eyed glasses and it sends them into such a fit of giggles that they have to leave the shop. The next one they go to is a posh clothing store just a few shops down. They look around the racks, fighting to remain straight-faced, as the woman at the till watches them so closely Liam wonders if she’s counting the very hairs on their head. They look at all the clothes as if they aren’t dressed in jeans and very non-posh shirts and can afford a—what the fuck? anorak? something that foreign-sounding for 60 pounds—and then Zayn starts snickering and Liam snorts and they leave, trying their hardest not to start laughing in the bright white shop until they’re outside and safe from the wrath of the shopgirl.

Liam teases Zayn about laughing first, tickling his side and whispering about how he’s so lame, and then Zayn tackles him into an alleyway and they start play fighting, trying to tickle each other and make each other laugh harder than they already are. They’re breathless from laughing and from insulting each other and then Zayn kisses Liam again, hands pressed against his face, and everything melts away until its nothing but tongues and teeth and lips.

The next thing Liam knows, they’re going back to his flat.

They’re quiet this time, barely talking to one another, just walking as fast as they can with their hands pressed tight. They’re quieter than they ever have been when Liam fishes his key from his pocket and opens the door, listening to see if his parents or sister are still up. The inside is quiet and dark so he and Zayn slide into it, closing the door as softly as they can behind them. Mice. They are mice. Church mice who are being quiet quiet quiet. Liam motions for Zayn to head back and they both start further inside, trying to be as silent as absolutely possible. Liam nods toward his room and Zayn slips inside, leaving the door slightly propped so Liam can get in. Liam heads across the hall and pushes open his parents’ door, careful to be as quiet as he can. His dad has work early in the morning even if it’s a Saturday.

“Mum?” he whispers into the darkness. “Mum? I’m home.”

“Mmmkay, Liam.” Her sleepy voice comes out from beneath the duvet. His mum always wakes up, whether she’s deep asleep or not. “Have a good time?”

“Yeah, brilliant. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“See you…love you…”

“Love you too.”

He eases the door closed and tiptoes across the hallway to his own room, where he closes the door—and locks it. He takes a deep breath, heart racing loud enough that he hopes no one can hear. Zayn is standing in the middle of the room, just an outline in the darkness. If this were a film, the curtains would be open and he’d be painted in moonlight but this is real life and this is London—the other buildings around them would block the moonlight anyway. Besides, Liam likes this better because shadows and Zayn seem like a good mix.

They don’t speak when they kiss again, instead telling each other everything they need to with mouths and hands. It doesn’t take long for both of their jumpers to hit the floor and Zayn’s shirt is quick to follow. Liam lets his hands spread over the other boy’s stomach, feeling the way that his muscles tense beneath his fingers because of it. It makes him smile and then his own shirt is quickly ripped over his head and joins the other rubbish on the floor.

He and Zayn press tight together, chest to chest, letting their hips settle as they continue to tell each other everything they need to with the fitting of their lips together. Liam kisses down Zayn’s neck and his boyfriend hums quietly, letting his head fall back so Liam can reach more of him. He bites him softly, so softly, and feels Zayn’s quiet inhale and the way his fingers tug in the waistband of his trousers. He can’t think of his parents across the way or his sister in the next room, he just thinks of Zayn: Zayn’s hands running up his sides and making him shiver; Zayn kissing his collarbone and nipping at the bone; Zayn standing straight and looking at him with eyes even darker than the shadows.

“ _Please._ ”

Liam reaches for him and palms him through his jeans, making the other boy jerk up into him, half-hard already. Liam loves how eager he is and how much he wants it—wants to be touched and tasted and taken. He kisses him again, tongue thrusting inside his mouth, and slips his hand below his jeans and pants. Zayn is hard and full beneath his fingers and it makes Liam’s own cock twitch because his boyfriend is so turned on. Zayn whimpers a bit and Liam shoves his jeans and boxers down so he can wrap his hand all the way around him. He pulls, long and slow. He hears Zayn’s shaky exhale and watches him with hungry eyes, wanting to catch his undoing, wanting to watch as he is reduced from Zayn to a person who just wants and needs—him.

His rhythm picks up, faster, and Zayn groans, eyes opening to look at him. They stare at one another, hooked to each other, and it ratchets up Liam’s own arousal. Zayn exhales shakily again, humming low in his throat. He grips at Liam’s shoulder. His fingers dig into his skin, short nails creating pinpricks of pain, a testament to his unraveling.

“Liam,” he whispers. He knows they have to be quiet. They both do. But Liam can see the tension on his face and knows, god he knows, that it’s so hard to be quiet when there’s the swoop of dark pleasure in your belly and impending release is building inside you. He sees it all over Zayn’s face, even in the dark, and tugs at the other boy slightly faster—

before he drops to his knees and takes him into his mouth.

Zayn hisses above him and Liam briefly thanks every higher power there is that he wasn’t louder. It would have woken his sister up and she probably would have come to check on her little brother and that’s—that’s something that he can’t even think about. Instead, he bobs over Zayn, taking more of him, and hears that small whine he loves so much that the other boy makes. Zayn’s fingers slide through his short hair, tangling in it, as Liam pulls off of him with a wet sound only to come back.

He settles into it, into making Zayn sigh and gasp a bit more, licking and sucking at him like only he knows how. It doesn’t take long for Zayn’s teeth to clench, his hands gripping to Liam’s hair. Liam stares up at him and Zayn’s head falls back as long shudder rips through him. His chest rises and falls with every rapid breath he takes.

“God, Li, I—” He swallows, staring down at the other boy. Liam can tell even in the darkness that his eyes are huge, especially because he hasn’t stopped. “I can’t. I—Fuck. I—Liam, I want—”

“What?” Liam pulls away and stands. There’s a nervousness on Zayn’s face and he reaches out, trying to smooth it away with a thumb because he doesn’t want Zayn to be nervous. Never that. “What do you want, baby?”

“You.” Zayn glances down and back up. Liam can feel the heat coming off his cheeks, even if he can’t see it in the darkness. “I want you.”

“You have me,” Liam whispers, not understanding. “You always have me.”

“That’s not—” Zayn takes a deep breath and meets Liam’s eyes directly. “I’m ready, Liam. I want it _all_. I want to sleep with you.”

“Oh. _Oh._ ” It takes a moment but then he gets it, gets the full magnitude of what Zayn is telling him. He actually processes what Zayn is saying and—wow. Just wow. He leans into him, hand on Zayn’s cheek, and searches his shadow-darkened face. “Are you sure? We don’t have to. I don’t want to make you—”

“I’m sure.” And he sounds it. “I want to be with you, Liam. I love you and…and I want to be with you. Like properly. All the way, baby.”

“Okay.” Liam nods, feeling staggered. He hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t expected this for a while. “Okay.” He’s still trying to process it all, because he hadn’t been planning on this happening for at least another month or two. _At least._ And now he’s thinking about it and—

Fuck.

The idea of having sex with Zayn for the first time—and being his _first_ like this—is just a proper head melt.

“I love you,” Zayn whispers again and Liam can’t help but smile because, even if this is unexpected, it’s still Zayn. He’s still his Zayn.

“I love you too.” He kisses him, hands cradling his face because he’s precious, so precious. Liam has never felt about anyone in his life like he feels about Zayn. He feels all hot and cold every time he’s by him and his skin is buzzing as if his bones want out. He feels safe. He feels grounded. Zayn can calm him down and excite him like no one else—he couldn’t ever imagine doing what he did tonight with any of his mates, not even Andy. Because it’s Zayn. Because Zayn is one of his best friends now. Because it works with them and only them…and no one else.

Liam urges Zayn backwards toward his bed as they kiss and the other boy follows willingly. When his back hits the edge, Zayn just lays back on the mattress and drags Liam with him. Their mouths meet and mesh as Liam touches Zayn’s sides again, his fingers sliding down his narrow hips until he finds where his pants and jeans are still tangled around his thighs. He pushes them down and Zayn kicks off his shoes and, together, they get him completely naked. Once he is, Liam leans back, fumbling, to turn on the bedside lamp. Zayn throws an arm over his face because of the sudden burst of light when it flicks on.

“ _Liam—_ ” he whines but Liam draws his arm down, eyes roving over every single portion of him that’s visible.

“Sssh, I want to see you.”

“Liam—”

“Ssssh.”

Liam lets go of his hand and it falls to the bed. He takes a step back, just looking at Zayn lying naked on his back, watching him with dark brown eyes. He takes in his rumpled hair and his kiss-swollen mouth, his delicate collarbones and tiny waist, his narrow hips and his pale thighs and his hard cock. He slowly looks at every millimeter of the boy laid before him before he meets his eyes again, his own wide. There’s a tinge of pink on Zayn’s cheeks again and his lashes seem impossibly long, creating shadows on his face.

“You’re kind of really fucking hot,” Liam whispers. “Like ridiculously.”

“Stop.” Zayn blushes even darker. “You’re just saying that because you want my dick.”

It’s so unexpected that Liam bursts out laughing and then slaps a hand over his mouth because he’s too loud. He giggles behind his palm, eyes wide and face flushed. “Oh my god, did you just say that?”

Zayn is blushing so hard that Liam thinks it could heat the room. “It’s true though. People only say that because they wanna get shagged and—”

He’s cut off when Liam leans over him, hands by his shoulders, and kisses him long and slow and deep, pouring all of his wonder and amazement into it. Zayn grips at him, long fingers wrapping round his neck, until they have to come up for air—and even then Liam really doesn’t want to.

He stares down at Zayn below him—perfect and naked, his hair a mess—and strokes his angular cheek with a thumb. “I don’t think that you’re sexy and fucking fit as hell just because I want to sleep with you, Zayn. I mean, it doesn’t hurt, but I’m not telling you those things because I wanna get laid. They’re true.”

“Yeah, okay, sure.” Zayn’s eyes roll but Liam grabs his face with both hands, staring at him seriously and forcing him to do the same.

“You are, Zayn. You’re honestly kind of beautiful.”

“Liam—”

“You _are_.”

“Okay.” Zayn’s voice is soft. “Okay.”

Their mouths fit together again and it’s hot and hard and full of Liam’s insistence. It spins out for what seems like forever before they pull back, fingers and hands running over arms and shoulders and chests, touching because they can and have all the time in the world to—so long as they’re quiet.

“You’re sure about this?” Liam whispers, checking again. He traces the outline of his boyfriend’s face with his a hand, fingers reverent. He just—he needs to check. He needs to make _certain._ He’s not going to push Zayn into this no matter how much he wants it. He could never do that. _Never._

“I’m sure,” Zayn whisper backs. Liam wouldn’t doubt him for a second, not with the way they look at each other in the shadows. Not with the way he can feel both their hearts pounding. “I want you, Li.”

“Okay.” He takes a big breath. “Okay.”

Liam ducks to pull a box out from beneath his bed, loathe to leave his boyfriend even for a few moments but it’s necessary. His mum hasn’t found the box since he last used it because the small piece of paper he put there is still stuck in the lid where he left it. He sends up another prayer for that. Liam opens the small box and grabs what he needs, then sets it all on the bedside table before he quickly shucks out of the rest of his clothes. He turns to Zayn again, just as naked and nearly as hard. When he kisses him this time, he joins him on the bed. Their hands move over chests and shoulders and tangle into hair. Liam lays on top of the other boy, careful of his added weight. Zayn doesn’t ask about what’s on the bedside table and Liam doesn’t bring it up. It’s not needed—yet.

He urges Zayn quickly to full hardness, his hands gentle and urgent. He swallows down his small noises and keeps going, pulling away so he can trail a line of kisses down the other boy’s body, making his head fall back and his hands clench. He pays attention to him again with tongue and lips, earning a stream of small, breathy sighs that have him turning as swollen as Zayn is. It’s only then, whilst Zayn’s eyes are screwed shut and his hands are clenched, that Liam reaches for the bottle on the nightstand. Mouth still suctioned around the other boy, he opens it and smears a finger liberally before he throws it down to the bed. He looks up at Zayn, making sure that he’s still lost in his mounting joy, and reaches down to slowly, so slowly, start to work his finger inside him. He feels Zayn tense up and slides off his cock to hover over him, although his hand doesn’t move.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, his face just barely not touching Zayn’s. He rubs his nose against his in something he thinks is called an Eskimo kiss, though that makes no sense whatsoever. “It’s okay. It feels weird, I know, but it’s okay. If it’s not—tell me, Zayn. If you want me to stop tell me and I will.”

“N-no. It’s okay. I’m fine.” Zayn takes a deep breath that Liam can _feel_. Oh god. “I’m okay, babe. I’m okay. It’s just…weird, yeah, weird.”

Liam laughs a little at that because he remembers his first time and kisses him again. “Yeah, I know. Just, if you want me to stop—”

“I will, babe. I will.”

“Just…just relax.”

Liam kisses Zayn, exploring his mouth as he continues to loosen him up and get him used to this.  
It takes a while. Zayn is tight and hot and has never had any of this happen before but Liam doesn’t mind. In fact, he enjoys it—enjoys the way that Zayn turns from squirming with slight discomfort to rutting up into him, pushing for more, his body dewed over with sweat. But none of that, none of it, is as sweet as when Zayn bucks slightly, swallowing down the wet cry that he almost voiced, and grips onto Liam’s biceps, hard, his breathing ragged. Liam can feel his intensity from every pore where they touch.

“Liam—Liam—I—”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

Liam pulls his fingers from the other boy and reaches across to the nightstand again. Zayn grunts a bit when his weight falls atop him and then breathes out laughter and races kisses across his shoulder and neck, hands smoothing across his lower back, tracing circles into his skin. He’s whispering things, silly things, mad little things, that Liam can’t hear even if he knows that they mean, because he knows what he’d be saying too. He comes back, condom in hand. He leans back on his knees, looking at the beautiful boy below him again only to lose his breath for a few moments because he can’t believe it, he really can’t. He can’t believe that he can call Zayn his and that he’s about to _make_ him his.

It’s only moments later that Liam is carefully, so carefully, bending Zayn’s knees out and is moving, hips rolling, going slow, so slow, even breathing carefully as if that could hurt the other boy too. It takes adjustment, it takes time, but Liam has all of it in the world for the boy looking at him with huge brown eyes. He’d give all of it if he could if it meant that Zayn held him like that longer or made such a helpless little noise again. He’d stop it to make Zayn happy, if that would.

Liam loses himself in Zayn and is swallowed whole, falling deep deep deep into the love they’ve created. It’s soft and warm and so strong it hurts but he wouldn’t have it any other way. He couldn’t. He tells Zayn when he’s curled up beside him, their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces after. After they whispered words only they could understand, after they moved together and, for a time, it seemed even thought together. After Zayn arched and made the smallest of sounds before his Orgasm Whine and sent them both tipping over the edge. _After._ Zayn’s long fingers are laid against Liam’s chest and his head snugged beneath his chin. Natural. So natural. Liam holds him, unable to let go for a second because he’s so strong and so incredibly weak because of the boy beside him and that feeling is intoxicating too. His fingers brush lazily up and down Zayn’s spine, adoring him in a quiet way. That’s normal too.

“I’m always here,” he whispers, not even sure if Zayn’s still awake or not. He has an amazing habit of falling asleep through pure force of will, actually tired or no. “Always, Z.”

There’s silence and then those fingers are stroking over the skin above where Liam’s heart lies, leaping because of it all. “I love you,” Zayn whispers, snuggling closer. “I’m always here too, Liam. As long as you’ll have me.”

“That’s forever,” he warns, half-joking whilst smoothing a hand down the other boy’s back. Their legs are hooked together and they can’t be arsed to get dressed again so they’re naked beneath the sheets. Liam kind of likes it. He kind of likes it a lot.

“I’m okay with forever,” Zayn murmurs.

It makes Liam’s heart beat a little faster and he wonders if Zayn can tell. He leafs his fingers through his Zayn’s hair for the space of a few of those heartbeats, wondering if the air’s suddenly gotten thinner or if it’s just him having a hard time breathing. The world has tipped slightly and seems suddenly bigger, even though they’re in his tiny bed meant for one and the room is dark and it shouldn’t feel so big but it suddenly is. It just _is._ On top of everything else tonight, Zayn saying what he has—so easily, without a thought, without having to think about it for even a second—makes everything, _everything_ , just that much different. Just that much better. Just that much—more.

Liam can’t help but reply with a hushed, “That’s all I’d ever want.”

——————————————————

The weather’s shit and Liam’s thankful that it’s just not raining. It’s clear that summer is definitely done and gone and he’s pretty certain that autumn throttled it and took its place. It’s blustery and the sun is hidden behind clouds that refuse to shift, though that’s England for you. It won’t be long until it’s sunset anyway. There’s a bite to the air that he can taste at the back of his throat and wonders if it’s what snow tastes like. It’d be cool to get some snow because they hardly ever do—he just prays to God or anyone listening that it doesn’t happen right now.

It’s one of the last matches of the season and they’ve had a pretty solid one so far. They’ve won more games than they’ve lost, at least, and have a chance at making it to finals for the league. That’s definitely something, and the lot of them are just the littlest bit confident and a whole lot of proud about it. They’ve had four days of prep for this particular game and the team as a whole feels good—they feel like they might have a legitimate chance of winning and, if they do, and if they win their next match too, it’s the semi-finals life for them. In light of that, they definitely think they can win against the rival team, even if they have a reputation for being smarmy, dirty wankers.

By the end of the first half, it’s apparent that they’re of a match—almost too much so. And that “dirty” was an understatement.

Neither side has scored and it’s clear that all of them, no matter what their jersey color, are getting frustrated by it. Their coaches are yelling from the sidelines and they were told during one timeout that if Coach Davis saw them stooping to making rotten tricks, they were going to be doing sprints next practice. For the entirety of practice.

It doesn’t stop them though.

The match gets mean and more than just a little shifty once a guy from the other side attempts to steal the ball from one of Liam’s teammates. They’re jostling, feet flashing, pressed up against each other and then David stops, bowing backward, and the other boy grabs the ball to sprint down the pitch. David stays where he is, dry-heaving and unable to breathe, from the elbow that had been thrown into his stomach. A penalty is awarded and David takes the shot, although he misses because he still can’t get air into his lungs properly. It proves to be the spark of sorts and it only gets worse from there.

The match becomes a battle on field for the ball and every goal attempt is hard-fought and sometimes even bloody. Even Liam has a few cuts and scrapes from the grass but mostly from being cleated when he went in for the ball. Almost every player has some sort of bump or bruise and, if it gets any worse, Liam wouldn’t be surprised if the entire match was called off because that’s how fed up and angry all the coaches and officials are looking.

Then Zayn gets the ball.

It’s accidentally kicked out of a knot of three or four boys and hurdles toward him. Zayn immediately grabs it, ankle to toe, and sprints upfield, headed toward the goal and the goalie in fluorescent orange. The action shifts to follow him, arms pumping as the rest of the boys turn to follow. Liam’s one of them and up ahead he can see Louis, but he doesn’t see the opponent from the other side charging in from the sideline. He doesn’t actually see him and catch on to what he’s doing until it’s too late. His heart leaps into the back of his mouth, soft and swollen and scared because he knows. He just _knows._ No. No no no no no.

“ _Zayn!_ ” He screams it but it’s lost in the other shouts on the pitch and the cheers coming from the spectators. 

He tries to run faster but it’s no use because Zayn’s at least ten meters ahead of him and he won’t get there in time. He can only watch in horror, feet working uselessly, as the guy from the other team rushes toward Zayn. Liam thinks he yells again in one last desperate Hail Mary attempt but he’s not sure with everything else going on. He sees the huge white number 14 on the boy’s back before he rams into Zayn, shoving him viciously, and then their legs catch and Zayn is going down, somersaulting to his back on the grass. Liam actually feels the impact, he hits so hard.

The whistle blowing is silver and terrifying.

All the players freeze as the ref runs onto the field, striped uniform flashing. Liam stares at Zayn, still lying on the ground like some discarded toy, and can’t feel his hands. He can’t feel his fucking _face_. All he can feel is his heart beating fit to burst on the back of his tongue and the overwhelming fear that has him in his grip, squeezing all strength from his arms and legs.

“Zayn! Zayn! You okay, mate?”

Zayn doesn’t say anything and the ref motions for Liam to be quiet. He stays in place, craning to see closer, trying to determine if his boyfriend—his bloody _boyfriend_ —is okay. Number 14 stands off to the side, chest heaving, looking angry and defiant. Liam’s pulse is throbbing distantly in his fingertips. He wasn’t close enough to help but he’s close enough to _see_ and all he can see is red—red blooming on Zayn’s football sock, red on the grass, red on the edges of his vision.

A medic runs onto the pitch, bag in hand.

Liam just watches, so scared he can feel it in the smallest bits of his body. He can _taste_ it. It’s not until Niall hisses his name from several meters away that he looks around and notices that all the other players have taken a knee. He drops to his own clumsily, feeling numb. This isn’t happening. It’s not, it’s not, it’s not. Zayn is okay. He’s going to be fine. He _has_ to be. It’s _Zayn_ and he loves him and he can’t be hurt. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t.

Zayn sits up slowly. The medic talks to him and he nods, but that’s all Liam can see. He can tell that Zayn isn’t crying—definitely a good sign, especially on the bloody football pitch—and looks hacked off more than anything. It’s a relief, if a small one. Coach Davis and Coach Granger join the small clique on field and Liam tries to see more but can’t through the screen of bodies. He clutches at the grass, tearing up huge handfuls of it. Zayn has to be okay. He’ll be okay. He can’t be that badly hurt, not if he’s sitting up and looks mad. Mad is good. Mad is better than being in pain. Isn’t it? It has to be, doesn’t it?

Liam searches for Niall amongst the kneeling boys with a frenzied urgency. He needs his mates right now. He needs them to tell him it’s going to be okay. He needs them to tell him that Zayn is going to be okay. They know him better. They’d know if he’s taken some nasty hits or falls before. He finally finds Niall, several meters behind, and meets the boy’s eyes desperately. He doesn’t have to say anything. Niall just nods, mouth tight, and mouths, “He’ll be fine.” But Liam can tell he’s worried too and that scares him because Niall doesn’t get worried or scared. He’s _Niall._

He looks for Louis then and spots him almost instantly, just a few paces away from Zayn, off to his other side. But rather than looking as upset as Liam feels, he seems to be really fucking angry, almost as angry as he was the night they got into it with James…who is glaring balefully at number 14 in his green jersey as if he wants to rip his head off and feed it to chickens. Which is something.

Zayn finally stands after a few minutes more and a cheer goes up from the small crowd. The boys all surge to their feet. Zayn nods at the medic and the officials leave the field. Zayn stays. Liam looks him over as many times as he can, head to toes, and stares at the scrape on his cheek and the red that stains his sock but…but he seems okay otherwise. He looks him over again just to be sure but those seem to be the only injuries he has and that…that’s okay. That’s better than what he’d thought had happened. The feeling of being able to breathe easily again makes his head swim. He lets the grass fall from his fingers back to the ground.

Zayn nails his penalty shot with a cool-eyed glare and they’re up 1-0 now because of it. Number 14 is only yellow-carded though, which makes Liam furious. He hopes for another timeout but none comes so he can only nod and smile at Zayn, mouthing if he’s okay. Zayn just nods and then they’re sprinting downfield and the ball goes spinning through the air, a blur of black and white. Liam spots number 14 further downfield and rips him to pieces in his mind, from his ruffly blonde hair to his stupid brown eyes to his ridiculous meaty hands to his fucking camp neon green football trainers. The more he watches him, the more furious he becomes because he was only yellow-carded. Yellow-carded! He fucking plowed into Zayn and spiked him in the process—all to get possession—and was only yellow-carded. And it’s just not right. It’s not fair.

Liam gets his chance to rectify it just a few minutes later.

The ball zips toward both him and the boy in green because of a misguided attempt at a header. Both Liam and number 14 go racing toward it, intent on the black and white squares. 14 gets there first because Liam lets him and starts dribbling, concentrating upfield and not to his side. It’s a mistake. Liam hits his side, hard, and gets in front of him. He acts like he’s trying to turn and slams back with his elbow when he does it. He feels it hit something solid and hears a crunch but he’s got the ball now and he just runs as far as he can until the whistle blows. When he turns, the official is striding onto the pitch looking proper stroppy and knows shit is going to go down because of it. Liam just looks coolly at number 14, who’s clutching at the stream of blood pouring from his nose to mix with the snot and tears from his crying. The referee looks at the boy and then back to Liam, who is hardly repentant about it. He reaches into his pocket and flashes the red card high above his head. Liam can’t even feel bad about it because he’s glad that number 14 is bleeding—literally—for what he’d done. He deserved it and much, much more.

“Red card, number 21! Unsportsmanlike conduct for intentionally harming another player.” He glares at Liam, adding much lower. “You ought to be ashamed, 21.”

Liam doesn’t say anything. He just turns on his heel and makes for the bench. He ignores the looks from the other players, although he can feel Coach Davis’ glare like a knife in the back. There will be hell to pay for this, he knows it. He can already feel his legs wobbling from the amount of sprints he’ll be doing but he just—he can’t care. The guy hurt Zayn. The guy hurt Zayn for no reason other than to get a bloody ball and that’s unacceptable, especially when he wasn’t punished as he should have been. So what if he had to take it into his own hands? At least the dick knows now that fucking with someone like that isn’t okay.

He watches the rest of the match from the bench, a few spaces away from everyone else, huddled up in his football jacket. It’s cold now he’s not moving but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about anything. It takes a few minutes for him to break out of that animosity but when he does he claps and cheers with the rest of the team, especially when they manage another score and they’re up 2-0. The game doesn’t last for too much longer and the score remains. At the final whistle, the rest of the team goes streaming onto the field to congratulate one another but Coach Davis stops Liam before he can do the same with a strong hand on the shoulder.

“Drink up tomorrow, Payne.” He glares at Liam with his old man’s eyes, his mouth folded into a white line of anger. “And don’t go eating much at lunch. You’re going to be running all of practice, lad— _all_ of practice—and I won’t have vomit on my pitch. You hear me?”

“Yes, sir.” Liam nods. “And I’m sorry, sir.”

“No, you’re not.” Coach Davis exhales sharply through his nose. “You’re not and that’s the problem.” He turns away without another word, headed toward the knot on the pitch. Liam stares after him for a moment, feeling shame finally rise, sharp and poignant. It goes away when he sees Zayn, though, because he did it for a reason and a bloody good one. He _did._

He catches Zayn and follows him to their bags, where they strip off and change into street clothes. Liam glances over at him and the scrape on his cheek but neither of them say anything. Which is weird. Really weird. They’re usually all laughs and shoves and instant recaps of the match and now they’re just—silent. Something’s off. Something’s really off and Liam has the feeling that it has to do with what happened on the field because they were absolutely fine, brilliant even, before.

“That penalty kick was brilliant,” he murmurs, pulling on a jumper. His breath steams in front of his face.

Zayn just glances at him and then turns away, pulling on a set of trainers.

“I’m serious, Zayn,” Liam presses. His stomach is heavy and his chest is tight. Something’s wrong. Something’s very very wrong. He can feel it poisoning the air around them. “You fucking aced that shot.”

Zayn flicks a look his way, his face smooth and unreadable. That’s weird too. “Cheers.” He doesn’t say anything else, just goes back to tightening the laces of his shoes. Liam stares at him for a moment before he sits to change his trainers too.

“Wanna go for pizza tonight?” It’s a tradition they have with Niall and Louis. Harry usually joins too because he comes to almost every match. They usually sit around the table, stuffing their faces and making jokes about the match while Harry shows them the pictures he took on his fancy camera. It’s nice. It’s one of Liam’s favorite parts about the season.

“No.” Zayn shakes his head with a small jerk. “Don’t feel like it tonight.”

Liam laughs, unable to help himself. “Come off it, you’ve never missed it before. We don’t have to stay that long.”

Those big brown eyes that he loves so much look over at him and all Liam can see is ice. “I told you I don’t want to. Let it go.”

“Zayn—” Liam tries but Zayn stands and grabs his bag, stalking away without another word. Liam stares after him for a moment, well and truly shocked, before he finishes tying his trainers, grabs his things, and follows, running to catch the other boy.

“Zayn! Zayn, seriously, what’s wrong?” Liam asks when he gets to his side but he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even _look_ at him and Liam feels sick from it. “Zayn?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He says it evenly. “Not now.”

“But what’s wrong?”

“The fact that you even have to ask me that.” Zayn shakes his head and makes a disgusted noise.

Liam grabs his wrist and hauls him to a stop. They’re near the carpark now and boys and their parents are streaming to their cars or the bus stop, chattering away. Some of them look happy, some of them look upset, and a few of them say hello to Zayn and Liam as they pass but the two of them ignore them. They just stare at one another, locked into a silent tense little world that Liam has no idea how they got into. This far from the pitch and its lights, it’s hard to see and everything seems blurry and soft. That scares Liam too because he doesn’t want to not see what’s on Zayn’s face.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Liam whispers. “Tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it, Zayn. Please. This—-this does’t feel right.”

Zayn laughs but it’s hard and cold and that scares Liam even more. “What, so you can fix it like you fixed things on the pitch?”

“Is that what this is about?”

“Fucking right it is.” Zayn pulls away from Liam almost violently and, even in the dim lighting, the pissed off look on his face isn’t hard to miss. “I can take care of myself, Liam. You didn’t need to go—go _attacking_ someone for me.”

“But he was only yellow-carded. He should have been—”

“Red-carded like you were? Would that make things better?”

“Well, yeah. He _hit_ you and—”

“And you didn’t think I could take care of myself? You didn’t think I could handle it?”

“That’s not what I meant. I didn’t think I—”

“That’s right, you didn’t think. And you didn’t think about the consequences for next match either, did you? You were _red-carded_ , Li. Next match is a big one and you’re not going to be able to play in it. Did you ever fucking think of that?”

“No, but it doesn’t matter.”

Zayn actually takes a step back at that, as if shocked. “It doesn’t matter?”

“No.” Liam hates that he sounds defiant. “It doesn’t matter because I showed that tosser that he can’t go blasting into people and hurting them like it’s no big deal.”

“But it’s okay when you do it, yeah? He just tripped me and scraped me up a bit. But you, you broke his bloody nose. How is that fair?”

“Because it is! Because he doesn’t get to fucking make my boyfriend bleed!”

“So it is about me.” Zayn nods. “And you didn’t think I could take care of it.”

“I never said that.” Liam is obstinate now and growing mad, the sick feeling in his stomach leaking away to be replaced by something much darker. “Stop saying that that’s what I was thinking.”

“Then what were you thinking, Liam? Please, enlighten me.”

“Don’t do that.” He’s not feeling sad or nervous at all anymore. He’s beginning to feel pissed, actually, and it makes his hands clench. “Don’t fucking do that to me. You know I don’t like big words.”

“Then stop lying to me,” Zayn shoots back. “Stop saying that you didn’t do it for me. Stop acting like you didn’t do it to make yourself feel better. Just fucking tell me why you did it.”

“Because he hurt you!” Liam explodes, arms shooting up into the air. “What more do you want me to say Zayn, huh? He hurt you and it made me mad and he was only yellow-carded for it so I went after him to give a taste of his own medicine.”

“And now you’re red-carded.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Yes it does! Are you fucking kidding me right now? You can’t play our next match, Liam. I think that’s a pretty big bloody deal right there.”

“You all will be fine without me. We’ll make it.”

“And if we don’t? What if we don’t, Liam? All those guys are going to blame you. All of them. How are you going to deal with that?”

“They’ll get over it. If they don’t win, it won’t bloody be because of me.”

“They won’t think so. All they’ll know is that a bloke who made first string won’t be there for the match and they’ll have to put someone in his place, someone less qualified. And all because he lost his cool and punched some dick in the face and get red-carded for it. All because his _boyfriend_ got hurt and he decided to act the fucking vigilante and pull some Batman shit.”

“Batman wouldn’t have elbowed someone in the face.” Liam scrubs his hands through his hair, hardly caring that it’s now standing up in several different directions. “Doesn’t matter. They know we’re mates, they don’t know the rest.”

“Don’t they? I remember dancing together like we’re fucking two weeks ago and having James call us faggots. Did you forget that?”

“No.” The offense is like a slap. “I didn’t fucking forget that. I never could.”

“None of them have either. They know, Liam. All of them know.”

“But there’s no—”

“We were pressed ass to dick like we were out clubbing. Believe me, they know. And now? Now they have no doubts.”

“Zayn—”

“You fucked it all up.” Zayn whispers it and Liam can see the sheen in his eyes as if he’s about to start crying. “It’s all fucked up now.”

“Don’t you dare say it’s because of me.” Liam leans forward, his throat tight. He feels like he’s about to cry too, because he doesn’t think anyone has ever said anything so hurtful to him in his entire life. The words are still ringing in his ears. “I did what I did tonight because _I love you_ and seeing you on the ground scared me so bad I couldn’t even think.”

“And now everybody knows.” Zayn barks out a harsh laugh. “Did you know not even my mum and sisters know? Your mum kisses me on the cheek and tells us we look like a cute couple and my mum doesn’t even _know_ —but she will now. Everyone’s going to be talking about this. My sisters are going to be hearing about it at school; they’ll tell her. What then, Liam? Huh?”

“I never asked you to keep it a secret from your family,” Liam whispers. “It’s not my fault that my mum knows I’m gay, Zayn.”

“But it’s my fault that my mum doesn’t know.”

“Well, we never go over to your place so…”

“It’s not that simple, Liam. It’s not that simple for a lot of reasons and you _know_ that.”

“Do I?” Liam challenges him because he’s mad. Because he’s hurt. Because a few parents and their sons are still leaving around them and tonight has been such an overload of emotion that he can’t stand it. “All I know is that you’re scared to because you’re scared of it going against what you grew up with but I dunno if that’s everything.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I just feel like there’s a lot more to it than that.”

“Like what?” Zayn hisses.

“Like you don’t want to tell your family because this might just be a fluke. Like maybe you don’t want to tell them that you’ve been with another boy because maybe it’s just this one time.”

His words are bombs dropped into the space between them and Zayn takes a step back as if he’s afraid to be touched. Liam just stares at them, obstinate, because he’s not backing out now and he’s not taking them back now they’ve finally been released.

“Did you actually just say that?”

“Yeah. I did.”

“I—” Liam can see Zayn shaking his head back and forth like some sort of dog. “I don’t even know what to say to that right now. Like…you think I don’t want to tell my family because I may not actually be gay?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

“You _fucking bastard._ ” The words are quiet but they still hurt nonetheless. Liam flinches as if physically harmed by them. “You think that I don’t fucking love you?”

“I know you do.”

“But you think I don’t wanna tell my family because, what? I don’t think this is going to last? And then I’m going to fucking see the error of my ways and fucking go back to girls?”

“I don’t know, Zayn. It just worries me that you haven’t told them.”

“ _Because it’s fucking scary!_ ” Zayn shouts, apparently not caring about the people still around. Liam sees three boys grouped by the edge of the tarmac and knows it’s their friends. He finds he doesn’t care. They’ve seen everything else happen between them; let them see this too. “Because I don’t know how to go up to my mum and tell her not to be expecting grandchildren from me because I like it up the arse!”

“Wow, that was nice. Cheers. Really enjoyed how nicely you put that. Real vivid. Say it louder so everyone can hear you.”

“ _Fuck you._ Fuck you for even thinking that.”

“It’s not like you ever gave me a reason not to.” Liam throws out, apparently having thrown all caution out the window too. He hurts. Everything hurts and his anger is mixing with fear now because he and Zayn have never fought like this and the other lads are watching and—and—

Even in the semi-darkness, the twisting of Zayn’s mouth and the tear tracks on his cheeks are unmistakable. “Well, I’m sorry I’m not _gay_ enough for you, Liam. I didn’t fucking know that it worked that way too.”

“Zayn—” Liam starts, beginning to regret it all now because it’s spinning out of control, _they’re_ spinning out of control and he didn’t mean it, he was just mad, but he’s cut off again.

“You just enjoy being alone and superior then. I hope it’s really fun.”

“Zayn, I didn’t mean—”

“I meant it when I said I love you.” Zayn hiccups with a sob and Liam’s heart cracks because of it. “I fucking meant it all, you fucking dick.”

“I love you too.”

“Do you?” Zayn challenges now. “Do you? Or were you just worried I was going to freak out and run away back to some chick and what’s between her legs?”

“That’s hardly fair,” Liam whispers.

“Yeah? Well, that seems to be what you’re saying, Liam. You seem to be saying you think I’m weak and I don’t know who I am or what I want.”

“I just…I don’t want to lose you, Zayn. I’m so fucking scared of losing you.”

“Well, you’re great at showing it.” Zayn barks out another humorless laugh. “Fuck you, Liam. Seriously, fuck you.”

“Zayn—”

“Did you ever love me? Really?”

“I _do._ I do love you, Zayn. I love you more than I have anyone else. I—”

“You’re shitty at showing it. Or did you just want me for a shag?”

It’s Liam’s turn to take a step back. He stares at the other boy, who glares back, and seriously considers taking a swing at his perfect face.

“You think I just wanted to fuck you?”

“I don’t know, you tell me,” Zayn throws Liam’s words back at him, acting like a grade-a prick.

“You’re being a dick,” Liam tells him.

“Did you just want mine?”

“ _No_. I fucking love you, Zayn, though God knows why right now. I didn’t hang out with you just for a shag. _I love you._ ”

“It sure as hell doesn’t feel like it right now.”

“I could say the same.”

Any other time, it would have earned a laugh but they’re staring at one another, faced off, with the lights of the pitch behind them and their mates waiting on the other side. Liam notices the tears on Zayn’s cheeks again and nearly reaches out but stops himself. Now isn’t the time or the place.

“What now?” he asks. He doesn’t know what else to say. He’s so tired all of sudden, tired right down to his bones. He’s mad and angry and upset and scared and it’s all created an exhausting shitstorm inside of him that he doesn’t even know how to begin to get out of.

“Now I break up with you for being a wanker and go home.”

“I—what?” Liam thinks it’s a joke at first but the seriousness on Zayn’s face, even in the dimness, is unmistakable. “You’re—you’re breaking up with me? Zayn, this is just a fight. Couples have them all the time. It’s—”

“Not when I’m accused of not being gay enough. Not when you don’t trust me. Not when you don’t think I can fucking take care of myself.”

“ _You can take care of yourself!_ What more do you want me to say?” Liam reaches for Zayn but the other boy takes a step back and it creates another crack in Liam’s heart, weakening all of his anger.

“I want you to say okay. I want you to say you’ll leave me alone. I—” His voice catches again and he stops. “I can’t do this when you don’t trust me, Liam. I won’t fucking do that.”

“But—I love you.” It’s a plea. It’s a beg. It’s all of Liam’s hurt and love and confusion compounded into those three little words but it does nothing to soften the look on Zayn’s face. It doesn’t even seem to make a dent.

“I love you too. That’s the worst part.”

“Don’t do this.” Liam begs now. “Don’t do this, Zayn. Let’s take a few days. Let’s calm down and then talk. This is just a fight. It’s just one little _fight._ ”

“No, it’s not. It’s a lot more than just a few days could fix.” Zayn looks at him and there’s some kind of yearning there and something Liam couldn’t name, not even if he had the vocabulary to. But it hurts. All he knows is that it hurts. “Bye, Liam.”

“I’ll hate you forever if you do this,” Liam whispers. He’s not sure if he means it or if he’s saying it to scare Zayn back. It could be both. “If you break up with me because of a fight, I’ll hate you forever.”

Zayn pauses. “I guess you’ll have to then.”

Zayn turns then and he doesn’t look back. He just walks over to their friends— _their_ friends—and they collect him like parents do their children, arms going round him as they lead him away. It’s too dark for Liam to tell if any of them look at him. He just watches as the huddle disappears, unable to believe what just happened. He feels hollow. He feels empty. He feels alone. He stands there in the darkness, staring at the now empty carpark, going over and over everything that he and Zayn had said to each other. He flinches at every remembered obscenity and accusation every single time he relives it. The lights on the pitch go out, plunging him into darkness, but he still doesn’t move. He feels for his mobile in his pocket but doesn’t bring it out, just clutches at it with hard fingers, pouring his disbelief into it. If he texts anyone, he makes it real. If he speaks aloud or thinks past those minutes, he makes it real. But he’s alone. He’s alone and it feels wrong and he’s alone and can’t quite remember why because he’s going over and over everything that happened but always stops before the goodbye because it hurts too much. It isn’t until it starts raining that Liam moves and starts walking toward the bus stop. He’s soaked in minutes and shivers, not sure if it just started or if it’s been happening all along. He’s also not sure if the water on his face is all from the rain, although his eyes and chest and entire body hurt so he’s betting on not.

He gets on the bus when it comes what seems forever later and sits woodenly in a seat. No one says anything to him and he certainly doesn’t try. Instead, he just numbly pulls his mobile out, thumbs tripping clumsily over the touchscreen because of the rain and the cold. And more, so much more, but he doesn’t want to think about that. Can’t think about that. He sends the message to the first person in his contact list and puts his phone away, thinking of what he just typed, over and over again because it’s all he can think about now. It’s all he can bear to think of right now.

_please no_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for sticking through this with me if you have. I really enjoyed writing part two, especially because it was from Liam's POV and he's just a really fun character to write, especially because I never have before. I'm already working on Part III so hopefully it doesn't take as long as this part did to finish. I just want to make it perfect for you guys. Finishing this wouldn't have been possible without Sonya, my best friend and partner in crime. She received every single email I sent her without complaints and talked me through the hard parts where I got stuck. I also need to thank Kim because her enthusiasm and love for this story helped so much too.


	3. Part II: Climax Section B

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I felt it necessary to share this all with you because I feel like there was some confusion as to what had happened and the thoughts and feelings of those involved.
> 
> Liam's friends could never leave him.

Liam gets home—somehow. He doesn’t really remember the bus ride or the woman who asked if he was all right…but he gets home and everything is a blur, slowly fading in and out of focus, like the edges of everything he sees can’t quite center. It’s still raining, but he barely feels it. Can’t feel it. He just draws his key from his pocket and trudges up the stairs to his flat, every footstep a burden. He focuses on the little things like walking and unlocking the door. It takes him three attempts because he can’t see the key slot the first two, but he manages it. Somehow. Inside, there’s the smell of food cooking and his family talking but he walks past it all, able to think of only one thing: getting to his room. If he can just get to his room, everything will be okay. The door looms closer and closer, the only thing he can see, the only thing he wants to see. If he sees his mum, he’ll break and he can’t do that now. He can’t open himself up to anyone else right now because it makes it _real_ and he can’t do that right now. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t. The door opens, it closes, and he’s inside. Safe. Okay. Alone.

And he has no idea what the hell to do now.

In the dark, it all feels so much closer. In the dark, he’s not around people who can watch him. In the dark, there’s nothing to concentrate on. In the dark, all Liam can see are the tears on Zayn’s face and the shape of his mouth forming the words “leave me alone.” The numbness that he’s has been carrying around tears instantly to form a stabbing sense of loss that reaches up from his belly to his throat and sucks him under.

He’s able to make it to his bed before he starts crying and clutches his pillow, curling in on it, still able to smell Zayn’s cologne on it, leftover from the night they shared here.

It just makes it worse, so much worse.

Liam cries until he can’t any more and just lies there, spent, feeling heavy from the weight of it all and yet hollow, fragile, as if he’ll fall apart with the next breath he takes. Or maybe the next. Or the next. Or the next. He keeps trying to process it but it’s too big to fit into his reality—he doesn’t _want_ to fit it in and that makes it worse. He doesn’t _want_ to accept that he’s now just Liam instead of LiamandZayn and—and—and the pain is staggering, overwhelming, huge.

In his pocket, his mobile buzzes, making his heart leap. Liam claws it from the sodden inside, hope a solid thing clogging his throat. That changes instantly when he sees the caller display and can confirm who it’s not. He answers it woodenly.

“Harry.”

“Liam, hi. You all right?”

It’s a simple question that Liam doesn’t know how to answer. Is he all right? Is he all right? He doesn’t even know what all right is right now. His eyes sting with new tears that he, manfully, tries to swallow down.

“Why do you care?”

Harry makes a surprised noise. “What do you mean, why do I care?”

“Why do you care?” Liam repeats. “You made it pretty clear that you don’t care about me tonight.”

“I—” Harry huffs. “I’m so sorry, Li. I just— _we’ve_ —never seen Zayn upset like that. We needed to get him home.”

Liam wants to scream at him. He wants to throw things. He wants to hurt him like he’s been hurt. He wants to do so much…and he’s too tired to do any of it, too deeply rooted in the _everything_ that it seems like too much of an effort. Even if he wants to ask if they thought how he might be getting home, even if he wants to remind Harry that what happened happened to him too. He knows he’s being petulant, he knows he’s being a twat but hasn’t he earned it? Isn’t he allowed to be, after everything that has happened? He doesn’t want to be all put together and fine. He wants to be just as human as they all are and let his cracks show.

But he only says “okay” because he can’t say anything else. He can’t breathe past the aching, raging hurt in his chest to say anything else. Not even to ask if Zayn is okay now. 

_Especially_ not to ask if Zayn’s okay now. Even thinking his name hurts.

“We want to make sure you’re all right too,” Harry continues, sincerity glaringly apparent in his every word.

“We?” Liam asks because it’s easier, because it doesn’t take much thought, because it’s obvious and he’s clinging to the obvious in case he gets sucked down again.

“Yeah, me and Louis.”

“You’re with Louis?” 

It shouldn’t surprise him, honestly. They’ve become attached at the hip and that hurts more than Liam thought it would because they’re okay. Because they’re solidly in the middle of whatever it is that they’re doing and he—he’s at the end. The ending. The stopping point. Liam has to take a staggered breath past his own ragged insides, clutching his mobile tighter to his ear as if hearing Harry breathing on the other end will help him to do the same.

“Yeah, I—” He hears a scuffle and focuses on it and the muttered voices coming through the speaker instead of what’s going on inside his own head and heart. “Hold on,” he hears Harry say as if from far away and then—

“Liam?” It’s Louis this time and Liam wishes, briefly, that Harry had stayed on the line because he thinks Harry would be a much better help during something like this. Louis is—well, Louis, and he doesn’t think his bedside manner will be much to talk about.

Does he need a beside manner right now? Is that what this is? He sort of feels as if he’s dying. Maybe it’s appropriate.

“Yeah.”

“You get home all right? Zayn was such a wreck I didn’t even think to see if you were okay. Niall mentioned it though and—”

“Good to know he’s got my back,” Liam murmurs. Even he’s a bit shocked at how _bitchy_ he’s being, but he’s allowed to, tonight of all nights. He’s allowed.

He expects Louis to get angry though, because it’s Louis and Louis plays by his own set of rules. He expects him to get offended and tell him that he’s horrible and welcomes that avenue of conversation because it’s easier than—this. It’s easier than mates apologizing and saying that Zayn is broken too. It’s easier than thinking about how much he wants to cry again. Bring on a fight. Bring on the anger. He’d rather that than the overwhelming grief he’s been plunged into, headfirst.

But Louis doesn’t get mad. Louis doesn’t get angry at all. Instead, his voice turns impossibly gentle and, fuck, it makes the tears rise again.

“I am so sorry, Liam. I never meant to leave you like that. None of us did. We went into survival mode and fucked it up because we forgot about one of our own. Just tell me what’s going on with you. Just tell me you’re okay.”

“I’m all right,” Liam says, hoping that the sound of him breathing past the gaping wound in his chest isn’t too obvious. “I’m fine. Honestly”

“Liam.” Louis kind of croons it and that—that does it. The sympathy, the softness. It makes Liam clutch to the phone even harder, struggling to not cry because it’s Louis on the phone and Liam’s supposed to be cross with him and Harry, even if it’s hard when the bottom of his world has literally just been exposed. Or maybe just ripped out from beneath him.

“I’m fine.

“We’re coming over. We’ll be there soon.”

“No, no, I’m fine. Don’t—don’t worry about it.” Even angry, even upset, even falling apart at the seams, he’s still Liam and he won’t have anyone put themselves out over him. Even if he wants them to. Even if he desperately wants them here, these people who understand without him having to explain it all; these people with a shared history who _get it._ Who don’t have to be told. Who were fucking _there._

“Don’t be a twat,” Louis says down the line, sounding a little more familiarly exasperated. “We fucked up and you’re not okay. We’ll be there soon.”

“Louis—”

“Liam.”

Liam doesn’t try arguing because it’s useless to try when Louis gets stubborn like this. and, honestly, it makes him feel the tiniest of tiny bit better because his friends haven’t forgotten him and are coming over on their white horse that’s the night bus to rescue him. He feels like like he’s drowning than that he’s spinning in dizzying circles then because there are people who _care_ , even though their loyalties are being pulled in two different directions.

That they would even travel in two different directions at all makes Liam’s heart flop over and start to feebly beat again.

“You don’t have to,” he whispers in a small voice because he feels like a fucking tit for making his mates travel back across the city on a dirty bus in the rain just because he’s hurt and crying. It makes him feel small and childish and so, so stupid.

“Yes, we do.” Louis is emphatic, but quickly fades toward gentle again, the kind Liam will never get used to. “Yes, we do, Li.”

“Niall’s coming too.” Harry’s voice comes, too loud, as if he’s pressing his mouth to the phone at Louis’ ear.

“And Nialler’s coming too.” There’s a scuffle, a scrape, and then a whining “ow!” from far off. “The apologetic and fucking stupid troops are coming, Payno. We’ll be there soon.”

“Okay.” Liam whispers. His friends are coming, the friends Zayn had claim over first. They’re coming for him because he’s hurting too and—he really loves them, even with all their failings. “Thank you.”

“It’s what you’re supposed to do for your best mates,” Louis says simply and then hangs up.

——————————————————————

Harry charms Liam’s mum into letting them stay a while and promises to bring her his mum’s chocolate cake because “it’s brilliant.” Everyone knows it’s a bribe but no one mentions it and Liam’s mum lets them stay, because she’s been hit by the Harry Styles Death Ray of Cute And Charm and falls victim to it, like anyone exposed to it does.

Harry’s smile is all cheek and dimpled satisfaction, because he knows it.

They stuff themselves into Liam’s room, making it feel even more shoebox-like than normal. Niall joins them not long after. They’re joking and avoiding the massive elephant in the room but Niall doesn’t. He told Liam once that he goes where life takes him and enjoys every bit of it, like he did every single spoonful of gelato he had once. Niall comes into the room, ignoring them all in favor of clambering up on the bed with Liam. He automatically curls up in the other boy’s lap, arms wrapped round his middle and cheek pressed into his neck, casual as can be.

“I’m sorry you’re sad,” he says simply. “I’m sorry this is all happening.”

Everyone in the room holds their breath, the stress surging until it seems to swirl around their heads. Liam feels the panic and the pain he tried to bury rise too but Niall’s arms are warm and Louis’ eyes are soft and Harry’s forehead has that little wrinkle in it that he gets when he’s worried. Liam reminds himself to breathe and sinks into Niall’s hug, eyes closing as he presses a hand to the boy’s dark blonde hair.

“I am too, Niall…I am too.”

“You’ll work it out.” Niall looks up at him with wide blue eyes. “You’re Liam and Zayn and you love each other so you’ll work it out.”

Liam is suddenly struck in that moment by how child-like Niall can be; how he accepts the world at face value and expects the same back; how he’s untouched by cynicism or hurt or feeling like his fucking heart has been ripped into thousands of pieces. He pets the boy’s hair, breathing past the broken thing in his chest, and wishes fervently that Niall never feels like he does now.

“I dunno, Niallers. I don’t know if this can be fixed.”

“It can be. You’re Liam Payne, mate. You can do anything if you really want to.”

Liam doesn’t know exactly what that means but it makes him feel better, so he loves Niall even more for it. He cuddles the other boy back, eyes closing as he breathes in the smell of boy and sweat and grass and rain. It’s weirdly comforting and kind of helps to dampen the radiating center of pain that used to be his heart.

“Awwww.” Louis grins but his eyes are still crinkled and affectionate. Liam loves him for that too. “Looks like Niall is proving to be the little anti-depression charm we all know he is.”

“It helps.” Harry nods sagely. “You can’t ever be sad when you’re getting a Horan hug.”

“True.” Liam hugs the armful of Irish boy in his lap, petting his hair lightly again. “We should clone him and sell the clones so everyone can have their own anti-depression charm.”

“They’d be too devilishly handsome,” Niall assures them. “We’d all take over the world and then you lads wouldn’t know who the real me was.”

“They’d all be you,” Harry argues, frowning slightly as if he’s considering the complexities of it all.

Louis laughs. “We’ll have to come up with secret questions that only the real Niall will know, that way we’ll know who the real one is and who all the copies are.”

“But if we do the secret questions now, won’t Niall pass all the answers on to the clones?” Harry’s frown deepens, overanalyzing it as always. Bless. “Like, won’t they know the answers anyway because they’re all Niall?”

Louis just stares at him. “Mate, you just take the piss out of things without even trying, don’t you?”

Harry actually pouts, big lower lip and everything. “ _Hey_ , it’s true though, innit? They’re all Niall so they’ll have, like, the same brain and everything and they’ll think of the same stuff so even the not-Nialls will know the answers cus they’re all Niall.”

Liam just laughs. “You’re doing my head in thinking about it that hard, Haz. I’m glad just having one Niall. I dunno if the world is prepared for more.” He tickles said boy, until Niall is giggling and squirming and has moved thoroughly away from his lap, where Liam’s legs had been going to sleep.

“It’s true. More than one of me would be too much.”

“If you say so,” Louis murmurs dubiously.

It continues on like that, all jokes and teasing and no mention of the member of their little group who’s missing. Niall almost slips a couple of times and Harry gets so close once that Louis kicks him to stop him, but they manage to avoid it all somehow. Even the close calls make Liam wince a bit, though being with his mates sort of balances it out.

They’re great like that.

“Can we go and get an ice cream?” Liam asks later, butting into the argument Niall and Harry had had going about whether Drake or Kanye was the better rapper. Liam thinks it’s stupid because it’s so clearly Drake. “I really want a chocolate ice cream.”

“Course, mate.” Louis stands decisively. “Ice cream sounds brilliant right now.”

Harry nods emphatically. “I always like ice cream when it’s colder.”

“Mad, you are.” Louis shakes his head. “Completely fucking mad.”

“You love it,” Harry shoots back with one of his huge, face-consuming smiles.

“Yeah, maybe I do.” Normally, Louis would sound slightly harsher. He’d sound like he was on the offensive, even whilst joking. Instead he’s affectionate, the kind of soft that Liam has been exposed to tonight, because it’s Harry.

And it hurts just a little bit, because they’re okay and he’s not and he and Zayn hadn’t had this unspoken _thing_ hovering round them. They’d been _more._ They’d been real and steady and solid and, Christ, Liam’s mum had even kissed Zayn on the cheek and told him to take care of her boy.

And now that’s gone.

For a moment, the room pitches and Liam feels as if he can’t breathe. He sits there, stock still, eyes huge, and tries to remember how his lungs are supposed to work, but it all feels wonky and off. Unnatural. Does the air go in? How does it? He stands there, drowning for a moment, and then feels Niall bump his shoulder.

“Hey, mate, you all right? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

It shakes Liam from the almost panic attack he thinks he almost had. He sucks in a huge breath and nods, the pressure in his head stabilizing to normal levels again. It’s slow, but it does.

“Nah, I’m all right. Just traumatized by the sight of our mate’s tongue down our other mate’s throat.”

Niall looks over at Louis and Harry who are, indeed, snogging as if their lives depend on it. He has this fond look on his face that’s half proud father and half vicarious friend. Liam just hopes that it’s for the kissing itself and not a wish to be one of the people doing so. Things are confusing enough as it is.

“Yeah, it’s kind of gross.”

“Really gross, actually.”

“As gross as when your mum and dad do it.”

“Grosser.”

They grab their two other friends and separate them, dragging them out the room so they can go out for the dessert that Liam is craving with an almost desperate need now. Chocolate works for girls, yeah? In all of those female-type films where they fall in love with the boy in the leather jacket who’s bad for them so they hang round with their friends eating chocolate and crying. Liam’s been exposed to a lot of those films growing up, courtesy of two older sisters and a mum. He’s also been exposed to the heartbreaks of said sisters and can testify, under oath, that chocolate actually does help.

They collect their coats and leave after Harry dimples at his mum and Liam kisses her cheek. They spill out into the night and the streets that are still rain dark, though the sky is clear now. A constant chatter is going on around him and Liam feels better enough that he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he’s going to get his mates the best Christmas presents he can afford because they absolutely deserve it.

———————————————

They get their ice creams and walk back to Liam’s flat, their hands cold and their noses frozen. Niall complains the rest of the way back once he’s finished his cone and burrows against Liam’s side, saying that being Irish means he gets colder than the rest of them. There’s also something about Ireland having better weather but Liam is pretty sure that’s a lie. He’s also pretty sure Niall’s so cold because he’d quite literally inhaled his ice cream but he doesn’t say anything, just wraps his arm around Niall and doesn’t think about how it makes him feel better too.

Louis and Niall leave for home once they get back to Liam’s. Louis knows his mum is waiting up for him because she always does when he’s out and, well, Niall’s mum is an Irish Catholic lady. They don’t need to ask any questions about what would happen should he stay out any later. Harry adamantly refuses to leave, though. Liam tells him it’s fine but Harry just shakes his head, stubborn like he so rarely gets. After trying another two times to convince the other boy to go home, Liam gives up. Harry already has his mum on board and they both know Liam’s mum won’t be that difficult to convince. It takes all of two minutes to do so and then Liam’s in the cupboard, digging out the cot they have along with a duvet and a pillow. He sets it up next to his own bed and they say goodnight, but within five minutes, he’s feeling panicky again; like he can’t breathe and he’s melting from the inside out. He struggles with it for all of two minutes and then hears Harry’s voice from the cot.

“Y’okay, Li? You sound all panty.”

Liam tries to remind himself that breathing only works if you inhale then exhale but even that seems hard too and, god, he’s such a fucking wanker because people get broken up with every day and don’t act like this. He’s seventeen. He’ll get over it. Plenty of fish in the sea, except that he feels like he’s drowning in the sea and is clawing his way to the surface only to have realized he doesn’t know where the surface actually is.

“I…No.” Liam’s mouth is the desert and it’s a million degrees. “I—I can’t do this.”

He can admit it because it’s Harry and it’s dark. He can say that he’s not okay and let the sham he’s been playing at all night disappear because it’s Harry. Louis does the protecting and the mouthing off, Niall does the comforting, and Harry does the emotions. He’s the one who gets it. He’s the one who grew up with mostly his mum and his sister and understands. He’s the one Liam can let that guard down for because he knows he’s not going to be judged.

Liam blinks and Harry’s in bed with him, pressed up against him, cuddled against his side. Liam hugs him like he’s being hugged and has to remind himself that crying all over your best mate when you’re in bed together in the dark probably isn’t the best of ideas. He just hugs Harry harder, burying his face in the other boy’s curls.

“I don’t know what to do,” he whispers. “Haz, I don’t know what to do.”

“Sshh.” Harry rubs circles into his back like his mum used to do when he was little and poorly and crying because he’d just vomited and didn’t want to again. “We’ll figure it out, Li. Promise. I think that the two of you just said some things you didn’t mean, yeah? I don’t think that this is really the end of it all.”

Liam has to remind himself of the crying thing again, as well as if you hug someone too hard you can hurt them, as Harry’s squawk of surprise proves. He just—he just really loves him and wants all of the good things in the world to happen to Harry Styles, like sex and chocolate chip pancakes and a day where nothing can go wrong, because he really is one of his best friends.

“I hope so. I do. I just—you didn’t see him, Harry. You didn’t hear everything he said. It was downright…it was scary. He meant it. He wasn’t mucking about.”

“He meant it because he was mad,” Harry soothes. “We all say things we don’t mean when we’re mad, Liam. The two of you can work it out.”

“He—” Tears spike and Liam’s throat is suddenly tight. “He doesn’t think I love him, Harry. He thinks that I think he’s not—not gay enough.”

“Well, do you?”

Liam frowns because he wants sympathy and comfort and back rubbing, not introspective shit like this. He pulls back and Harry’s looking at him, eyes big like they are when he’s waiting for an answer. Liam expels a breath in a whoosh and rubs a hand over his face.

“I dunno. I don’t reckon so? I know that he loves me and I know that I love him but I…I worry sometimes. I worry that it won’t be enough or that he’ll change his mind.”

“You just said you love him,” Harry points out. “And that he loves you. Why would he change his mind?”

“Because.” Liam frowns. “I’m his first boyfriend, you know? What if he decides he likes boys and girls and that he’d rather something prettier than…me.”

“You’re plenty pretty,” Harry offers quickly and Liam just laughs, albeit weakly, and shoves him lightly.

“Yeah, but not girl pretty. Not with the hair and the clothes and the boobs and the—”

“And the pussy,” Harry adds without the slightest hint of shame. Incorrigible, he is. An absolute terror. It makes Liam snort a bit and smile because of the cheek of him.

“Yeah. And that. I dunno, Harry, it’s just something I worry about, I guess. Plus his family doesn’t really know and that—that really hurts. Did he ever tell you what happened when he came to mine a couple weeks ago?”

“What? When you guys did it for the first time? He told me but wouldn’t give up any of the details, which is kind of rude, y’know, when he mentioned it and—”

“Oh my god, no. It’s not about us having sex.” That hurts to think of so Liam rushes away from it. “Did he tell you what happened with my mum?”

“Oh. No. Should he have?”

“Maybe. No. I don’t know. The point is is that my mum was _so nice_ to him and kissed him and told him to take care of me and that I’d better do the same and I just—I don’t get to have that with Zayn’s mum. I don’t get to have that because they don’t _know_ and that’s really unfair.”

“I could see that…but it’s also really difficult for him, yeah? He grew up in a totally different environment from us. Like, totally different. His family means so much to him and I think…I think he doesn’t want to disappoint them.”

“But it’s nothing to be disappointed over!” Liam is frustrated now, because Harry is defending Zayn when he’s here with Liam and it’s like he’s having the conversation from earlier tonight all over again. “He’s not going to be any less of who he is just for it.”

“Yeah, but don’t you remember how scared you were when you told your mum and dad? I remember telling my mum that I liked girls and boys and that was scary.”

“You—you told your mum that?”

“Yeah.” Harry burbles with slight laughter. “She took it pretty well, especially because Louis had already been round a lot and she really likes him. Says he’s mental and that he better be careful or she’ll kick his arse, but she likes him.”

“Your…your mum likes Louis?” And here they’d all thought that Louis and Harry were keeping it as a big secret.

“Well, yeah.” Harry shrugs. “I love him a lot and I love my family a lot. Just makes sense, yeah?”

“That…That right there is what I want.”

“I know you do, Liam. You deserve it but Zayn’s scared. He doesn’t just like _people_ like I do and not really care about the downstairs bits. He’s into dudes and he’s a dude and that’s just a lot to handle when you grow up like he did.”

“Yeah, but religion—”

“Is really important to him and so is his culture. This stuff is a lot to wrap your head round and get used to, but he grew up different from the way we did. You and I grew up different too. You gotta accept that, Li, and accept that this is really hard for him, even though he loves you a whole fuck ton.”

“Does he?” Liam whispers. “He didn’t make it seem like he did tonight.”

“Neither did you.” Harry swats him on the shoulder as a way to scold him. “I think that you both said some things you don’t actually mean and stuff. You just need to talk about it and get it sorted. I know that he still loves you, just like you love him.”

“I miss him already,” Liam breathes. “I miss him and I hate him and I love him. None of this makes sense, Haz.”

“It never does when you’re in love. Isn’t that kind of the point?”

They’re lying propped on their sides, facing each other, faces only a handful of centimeters apart. Liam can count on one hand the number of times he’s felt closer to a friend and some of those are even Zayn and don’t count. Not really. Not right now. He closes his eyes, holding on to the feeling because it combats all the sad.

“I don’t know how to be here without him,” Liam whispers. “I keep trying not to think of it but, like, everything about my life in London is connected to him. Fuck, Harry, I wouldn’t even be friends with you guys if it wasn’t for Zayn. What are you supposed to do with that?”

“I don’t know.” For the first time, Harry sounds unsure. “I don’t know, Liam, but you two need to work it out. You need to talk when you’re not upset and going at each other’s throats. Maybe you can figure it out then.”

“What if we don’t?” Liam can barely hear his own voice, it’s so quiet. “What if we don’t? What if this is…permanent?”

“We’ll work it out. The rest of the lads and I aren’t going to give you up just because you and Zayn break up, Li. I really, really don’t want you two to _not_ be together but…if this stays we’re still going to be friends with you. Promise.”

“What if Zayn doesn’t like it?”

Liam can feel the look that Harry gives him. “Does that even sound like Zayn at all?”

“No…But what if?”

“Then he can suck a dick because he’d be one. We’re your friends, Liam. That doesn’t change based on who you’re dating.”

Liam leans in and smacks a giant, wet kiss to Harry’s forehead, hugging him hard, hard enough that he makes the other boy squawk again. He doesn’t let go this time, though. He just keeps on hugging him.

“I really love you, you know that?”

“Yeah…Me too.” Harry’s voice is nothing but a breathy squeak. “Now can you let go of me, Hulk?”

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” 

Liam releases him and Harry gasps, pretending like he’d been close to suffocation. “Thanks for almost killing me.”

“Don’t mention it.”

They start giggling in the darkness, trying to be quiet because Liam’s sister is next door and his parents just across the hall. Not too long ago, it was him and Zayn trying to be silent, though for an entirely different reason. The thought bobs to the front of Liam’s mind and hurts to think of, because that night had meant so much and they’d made promises to each other and—Liam flinches, but this time Harry notices. He presses a hand to Liam’s cheek, his eyes big and dark.

“Liam, Liam sssh. You and Z are going to figure this out. I know you will. It’s gonna be okay.”

Liam’s breath hitches and he lets it this time, because it’s Harry and Harry understands. He finally lets himself cry again, unashamed, releasing the hold on everything he’d been holding back. Harry rubs a hand through his hair and Liam knows that he doesn’t mind him crying in front of him. He knows he’s not going to get judged for it.

“I’m so scared we’re not going to, Harry. I—I’m so scared. I love him so m—much and he makes me so happy and—and—and what if we don’t? What if I lose him forever?”

“We’ll work through it, Li.” Harry sounds wrecked and Liam sees that he’s crying too, silent tears tracking down his cheeks in the semi-light. That’s surprising and it hurts too, because Harry shouldn’t be crying. There’s no reason for Harry to be crying, no matter how upset Liam is. “You’ll make it through, I promise I promise I promise.”

“Harry.” Liam chokes and just burrows against the other boy, feeling his arms come around him as he cries, tears soaking into Harry’s t-shirt. The other boy just holds him, crying silently still, until Liam is exhausted and has run out of tears again, much much later. Years later. Eons later. Entire lifetimes later.

He falls asleep holding Harry’s hand, pressed against his side like a little kid. He should have let him move to his makeshift bed. He should have moved so they weren’t touching, at least, but he can’t bear sleeping by himself. And Harry lets him, because he’s Harry. Because he understands. Because he gets it.

When Liam finally does sleep, it’s dreamless and heavy, weighed down by his grief and fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this isn't the end like a lot of you were probably hoping for. I'm still working on it and am about halfway done. I've had homework and school and work getting in the way, but I've got breaks coming up soon so that should definitely help.
> 
> Never fear, loves. This is going to be finished. Thank you for your support and love and comments. It's keeping me going. I promise it's going to get done soon!
> 
> xx


	4. Part III: Happily Ever After.

“Pass us a drink, would ya, Lou?”

Zayn just as easily could have grabbed the pitcher himself, but he didn’t want to end up leaning across the table by Niall’s plate because, one, it’s rude and, two, Niall would’ve killed him for interrupting the all-you-can-eat fest so he’d asked. Besides, it’s not like Louis minds. He actually smiles quite cheerily at Zayn, half-chewed food in his mouth and all—which is a bit disgusting but he’ll let it pass.

“Anything for you, mate.”

Zayn grabs the pitcher from him and ignores the feeling that something isn’t quite right for the thousandth time. Everything is fine. Everything is brilliant, even. So he pours himself another drink, focusing on Louis reprimanding Niall for chewing with his mouth open, even though he’d done it first, and doesn’t think of anything else. He doesn’t think about how there’s just four of them, sitting at a little table, and how normally they’d be even more crammed. He doesn’t think about how there’s four of them there and that it’s this that feels lopsided and unnatural. He fills up his drink and turns his attention to his burger because he’s out with his best mates and has no reason to feel off-balanced.

Even if he has been for the last two weeks, even if he feels like the world’s been turned upside down and he’s struggling to hold onto the ceiling so he doesn’t fall.

 _Fuck._ He’s not thinking about it, he’s not thinking about it, he’s nothing thinking about it…

“…got maths on top of all of that too. I think I’m going to die. Fuck end of term exams. I’m convinced that the teachers are all sadistic bastards wanting to have their way with us.”

“You like Pritchett though,” Harry murmurs. “You’re always telling me how much you like Pritchett.”

“Yeah, well, that’s because he’s a bit mad, innit?”

“And Fowler isn’t that bad either.”

“No,” Louis agrees. “Not that bad.”

“She even gave you an extension on that one paper.”

“Yeah, that was nice and—and _besides the point, Harold._ We have end of term exams in just a couple of weeks before Christmas hols and it’s _bullshit_ that we have to do them.”

“We have like three weeks off after that, mate,” Niall points out, going so far as to actually point with a chip. “They gotta make sure we know what’s what before we go off and fill our heads with pints and our stomachs with cakes and shit.”

Harry nods. “Yeah, what if we forget it all? Three weeks is a long time.”

“It’s like I don’t even know you,” Louis hisses. He leans across the table to pin Zayn with a look. “Come on, mate, back me up. Aren’t end of term exams a bit dodgy?”

Zayn shrugs, taking a careful bite of his burger before he answers. He knows what Louis is asking for. He knows Louis wants him to back him up but— “Three weeks is a long time.”

“For fuck’s sake.” Louis throws up his hands and leans back against the seat back, scowling. “D’you all like doing coursework then? Liam would have—”

Zayn doesn’t need to hear Louis’ sharp “ow!” to know that Harry kicked him under the table. There’s been a lot of that happening lately. He glances down at his burger and takes another bite, the food tasteless now. That’s been happening often lately too. He chews and swallows because he’s expected to, tuning back into the conversation when he’s sure that Louis has recovered and changed the topic. His chest might be aching and tight, but he ignores it.

That’s been happening a lot too.

“—but yeah, Mum said you lot are free to come over for New Year’s again.”

“Louis, it’s the middle of November,” Zayn adds in, trying to appear normal. Fine. Like everything’s okay and there’s nothing to bother the world of Zayn Malik, nothing at all.

It’s seemed to be working the past two weeks.

“You got to get started on it early. It took me nearly a month before she said yes last year, remember?”

“Because we nearly broke the telly playing whatever mental game you made us play.”

“I’m kind of wondering why she’s letting us this year,” Harry muses. “Didn’t we get shitfaced last year? And didn’t Niall throw up in your mum’s trainers?”

“Not my proudest moment,” Niall mutters.

“S’okay, Nialler.” Louis pats him on the shoulder. “Better out than in, yeah?”

“Says you.” Zayn snorts. “You chucked it in a plant, didn’t you?”

Louis’ flush is a tell-tale sign of shame, even though he opens his mouth hotly. “I remember you being sick too.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t vomit in the plants. I made it to the toilet, at least.” And he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t proud of that one. He’d been the only one, dammit. Harry had been retching in the front bushes before they’d even made it into the flat.

“Whatever.” Louis flaps a hand his way, irritated because he isn’t agreeing. It makes Zayn smile a bit because it’s typical Louis. “We’re doing it again this year _and_ I’m pretty sure that my mum won’t be there.”

“Why?” Niall asks through a mouthful of food. “She got a hot date or something?”

“Something.” Louis shrugs, though his eyes are glittering. They all know his mum is seeing a bloke that he actually likes, for once, and he’s excited about where they’re headed. This is what Louis Tomlinson looks like grown up, Zayn has decided. It fits him nicely. “But that means we can get totally wasted at mine.”

“What about the twins?”

“Details, details. We’ll figure it out when the time comes. As Zayn so kindly reminded us, we’ve got a while to plan.”

“Wicked.” Niall grins and slurps at his drink, eyebrows waggling suggestively. Zayn wonders if he’s thinking of girls and pints and dancing all night. It sounds like something Niall would think of for New Year’s. It also doesn’t sound half bad.

“What about your birthday? What are we doing this year?” Harry asks.

Since he was pigheaded enough to have been born on Christmas, they always celebrate Louis’ birthday a week early. It’s been the tradition since they all became mates. Louis usually gets to decide what they’re going do, too, because they’d never be able to plan a party for him themselves without him butting in the whole time. Zayn loves him, but sometimes Louis can be a right prick.

“I was thinking a club.” Louis beams. “We could dance and get drinks and just have a fucking brilliant night, yeah? Ring in my birthday the right way.”

“Even though it won’t actually be your birthday.”

“But it will be on that night, that’s the magic of it.”

“Who are we inviting this year?”

“I just kind of wanted to keep it small. Maybe us and Stan and Danny.”

“And L—” Niall catches himself and looks down at his plate, guilt written clearly all over his pale face. He doesn’t even have to finish for Zayn to know who he meant and…well…

Fuck.

They’re all silent, trying to avoid the awkwardness that’s seeping into the air around them. Zayn can feel it, so he knows they can too. And, god, okay, he feels terrible because they only feel awkward because of him.

“You can invite him if you want to,” he tells Louis lowly. He doesn’t look at him. He plays with the chips on his plate instead, arranging them into straight lines. “It’s your birthday, Louis. I’m not going to stop you.”

“Zayn—”

Zayn shrugs, still not glancing up. He can feel their eyes though. He can taste their pity. It makes his throat go tight and his chest starts hurting again, so he focuses on making sure that his chips are as straight as possible. It helps, thinking of something else. He’s been doing that quite a bit the last few weeks as well.

“I don’t think we’re gonna have a row or anything. By that point, we should be okay. I reckon we’ll be all right.”

“So, you’re not going to try and make up?”

Zayn looks up and frowns at Harry. Niall and Louis, across from them, watch them closely. Zayn can just barely see Niall slowly shaking his head from the corner of his eye. But Harry is looking at him obstinately, clearly waiting to be answered.

“No,” Zayn replies slowly. “No, I don’t think so, Haz.”

Harry shakes his head with a reproach even Zayn can’t reason away. “You’re making a mistake, mate.”

“I don’t see how any of that is your concern.”

Harry coughs out a shot of breathless laughter. “Seriously? Of course it’s my ‘concern.’ It’s all of ours.”

“I’m not trying to make you pick between us,” Zayn says again, confused. He doesn’t understand why Harry is acting like it’s such a big deal. People get together and break up all the time. It’s not as if he and Liam were _fated_ to be together. They aren’t some couple destined to be together. They’re two boys who dated and broke up. Nothing more and nothing less. This isn’t fucking—fucking Pride And Prejudice or some other sappy romantic bullshit. This is 2013 and this is the way it is.

“I’m not telling you I feel like you are making me—us—pick. I’m telling you that you’ve been miserable for two weeks and so is Liam and I thought you would have worked it out by now—”

“There’s nothing to work out, Harry.” Zayn looks him in the eye. “We’re not going to be making up.”

“I think you’re making a mistake.” This time it’s from Louis. Zayn swings to him, feeling slightly betrayed. Out of all of them, he thought Louis would understand. Out of all of them, he thought Louis would know that he _can’t do this_ in front of all of them. Out of all of them, he’s the closest to Louis and he thought Louis would back him up. Regardless of anything.

Apparently he was wrong about that—him—too.

“What?” It sounds stupid coming out of his mouth but Zayn has nothing else to say. He can’t think of anything else to say, because the entire conversation has become stilted and weird. He wants to go back to planning. He wants to go back to talking about getting pissed and having a laugh and celebrating. He doesn’t want to talk about this. He doesn’t even want to _think_ about this, so why are they making him?

Why don’t they understand that Zayn can’t breathe when he _thinks_ about it? Why can’t they understand that he can’t fucking cry again after all of the nights he’s been wrapped up in his sheets and has stifled his hiccuping sobs into his pillow so his sisters won’t hear?

He _can’t._ He just _can’t._

“I think you’re making a mistake,” Louis repeats and then leans in closer, eyes hooking to Zayn’s. “I’ve never seen you as happy as you are with Liam, Zayn. And we’ve been friends a long fucking time.”

Zayn just shakes his head, breathing in through his nose in an effort to stop his heart from pumping jaggedly in his chest, although how the two would be correlated he doesn’t know. It just seems logical. Somehow. He pins the other boy with a look, fighting through his own hurt to make one thing and one thing only very, very clear for what he hopes is the last time. He can feel the panic clawing up from his stomach to wrap dark fingers around his airway, making it even harder to breathe.

He can’t, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t.

“We’re not going to be making up. We’re not going to be getting back together. It’s _not_ happening.”

“Have you even talked to him, mate?” Niall looks at him and the hope on his face hurts. It hurts a lot. Zayn takes a deep breath, eyes closing so he doesn’t have to see Niall looking at him like that, because Niall’s looking at him like he’s not being the person he knows he is and he…he can’t handle that either. It adds to all of the mess that is his insides right now and, god, he feels nauseous, almost like he’s about to boot right there at the table.

“No, we haven’t.”

Though it hasn’t been for lack of trying.

Liam had given him the weekend and tried at school that first Monday. He’d caught Zayn before lunch, hand on his wrist and giant brown eyes looking tragic. Zayn had wanted desperately to make him feel better. He’d wanted to smooth out the wrinkle lines between his eyebrows like he had before and make him smile like he’d always done. He’d wanted to make it all better but _he_ was the reason Liam was upset in the first place.

Liam had asked if they could talk. Zayn had watched those big brown eyes and his mouth the entire time. He’d noticed how other boy seemed to exude nothing but genuine sincerity. He’d noticed how he hadn’t let go of his wrist and how good his fingers had felt against his skin. He’d noticed it all, especially the way he had _ached_ to touch Liam, talk things out with him, make it better.

But.

He’d remembered the football pitch. He’d remembered the way that Liam’s mouth had twisted around the words that had felt like they had literally eviscerated him. He’d remembered the tears and the accusations. He’d remembered how he’d shaken for hours afterward, unable to let go of his own fury and hurt, no matter how much Louis and Niall and Harry tried to coax him out of it. That changed it all. That had made him remember how mad—how _disgusted_ —he was with the other boy. He’d recoiled, drawing away from the touch that had made everything feel better, and could _feel_ the poisonous glare he’d sent Liam’s way.

He remembered now too how he’d told Liam that they couldn’t talk and what was done was done. He remembered watching the other boy flinch and how the hurt had moved across his face in waves, sinking into his eyes before appearing at his mouth and making it curve into a frown that had punctured Zayn’s organs, no matter that he’d fortified himself with the curses the other boy had thrown at him. Liam had asked him if he really meant it and Zayn had said he had and then he’d turned and walked away, leaving the other boy standing in the corridor as he made his way to the cafeteria, head high and body throbbing with the want to turn around.

He’d tried to tell himself that he didn’t care and failed miserably.

That had been the last time they’d spoken, even though Zayn had gotten another text later that night, a text that had made his throat close up and his eyes sting. It had been only slightly longer than the text he’d gotten the night of the match, but it had hurt far worse.

_i’m sorry….ill leave u alone now. still love you….. xxxx_

But it hasn’t changed anything. It hasn’t changed his resentment, it hasn’t changed the nagging fear that Liam doesn’t think he is _good_ enough. It isn’t nearly enough to make Zayn feel like the gap has been bridged. It seems like too little, much too late. It seems like a consolation prize compared to the fucking lottery he had had before.

Nothing was going to bring that back.

“Mate—” Niall leans forward, all serious blue eyes and no laughter. “Don’t you think you should try and talk to—”

“No.” Zayn cuts him off, head shaking emphatically. “No, I’m not going to.”

“Zayn—”

“No, Louis. No.” Zayn stops him before he can begin too. “We’re not talking this out. This is not getting better.”

“That’s bullshit.” Harry glances up from the twisted fingers in his lap, his eyes glinting. “I love ya, mate, but that’s bullshit.”

“Harry…” Niall gives him a look but Harry tosses his head impatiently.

“No. It is.” Harry pins Zayn with a look that is angry, more angry than Zayn has really ever seen him. This is Harry, whose favorite film is Love Actually. It’s Harry, who smells like sugar and fresh bread from the bakery he works in. It’s Harry with soft eyes and a quiet voice who can take you out of your head when you’re sucked down too far into it.

And he’s looking at him. And he’s mad.

And it doesn’t make sense.

Zayn’s throat closes all the more and he can feel the sting of tears lying on his tongue. He swallows them down, refusing to cry in the middle of the restaurant with his mates. His fists clench and by the way Louis glances at him, he knows. He knows and the downward curve of his mouth is all I’m sorry but it doesn’t change the fact that Harry is looking at him like he doesn’t know who he is and that, even if Louis is giving him sympathetic faces, he agrees too.

“I’ve never seen you happier than when you were with Liam.” Harry leans closer, face swallowing up Zayn’s field of vision. It’s disconcerting so he focuses on the prick of his nails against his palm. “Never, Zayn, and we’ve been mates for a good long time, like Louis said. I’m not saying that I think you two are soulmates or whatever but, like, you need to make this work out because I don’t want you to be mad at yourself in ten years that you didn’t. I really don’t want that for you.”

“I won’t—”

“You don’t know that. You don’t, Z.” Harry is all big eyes, bigger hair, and raging sincerity. “I don’t want you to feel like you missed out on the chance of a lifetime because you didn’t try again. Because that’s what love is, yeah? It’s taking chances and jumping off of cliffs not sure that you can fly and it’s fucking scary as hell but it’s worth it. Isn’t it?”

He sends Louis a look that has Zayn’s insides curling in on themselves and collapsing. It’s fondness and pride and, god, it hurts. It hurts because Liam would look at him like that and _he_ looked at him like that and—

“I can’t.” He clears his throat, hoping his next words will sound less like a whisper. “I can’t and I won’t, no matter how I’m supposed to be taking chances and plummeting to my death and all that rubbish.”

“Why?” Harry leans forward, his forehead a mass of wrinkled confusion. “Seriously, why, Zayn? You got into an argument, sure, but—”

“Because I’m going out with Perrie Edwards this week.” Zayn stares Harry down, daring him to say anything. He doubts he will because he looks nonplussed, as does Niall. He can feel the same shockwaves coming from Louis. He swallows down what feels uncomfortably like sticky shame in his throat and continues on. “Liam doesn’t think I’m good enough. He thought that he was some—-some fucking phase or bollocks like that so I’m done. He doesn’t think I love him, so I’m done. I’m moving on.”

“Don’t you think it’s…a little soon?” Harry suggests. He’s looking at Zayn as if he’s afraid he’s some bomb that’s about to go off and he _hates_ that.

“I’m fine.”

“I mean…she’s fit and all, sure…” Niall seems to be struggling to find the words too. Zayn knows for a fucking _fact_ Niall has had a desperate crush on Perrie for the last two years and wants to laugh out loud at the fact that he’s trying to advise him against seeing her. “But it’s only been two weeks, mate.”

“I’m single. She’s single. What’s the problem?”

He feels the looks they give each other and has to inhale through his nose in an attempt to stop himself from smashing anything. His hand still hurts from the night of the match. He flexes his fingers as an afterthought; the doctor had told him when he went to hospital the next day that it might be fractured and not to aggravate it. He stretches his fingers out and lays them flat on the plastic seating, feeling the rip in the cushion beneath his skin.

Zayn wants them to say something. He wants them to tell him he’s mad and jumping into things too quickly. He silently _dares_ them to so he can get mad at something. Anything. There’s been this hot ball of rage sitting in his belly the last fortnight and nothing he does can get rid of it. He punched a wall, he tossed all the doodles of Liam or inspired by him in the bin, he furiously wanked to a picture of Jessica Alba—and nothing. No dice. He’s spoiling for a fight, begging for one, and hopes this will prove to be it.

But his friends are his best mates for a reason and, even though they’re all shifty eyes and dodgy mouths, they pull through and he’s denied the one thing he thinks will make everything better.

“I’m sure you’ll have a lovely time,” Louis murmurs.

Niall nods. “Aces. Tell me if she’s really as funny and gorgeous as she seems.”

“Have fun.” Harry stares him down, accusing. “He told me he loves you, you know. He told me doesn’t know who he is without you.”

It drops like the fucking bomb did on Japan and Zayn stares, unable to say anything else. Everything in him is gathering, gathering hot and tight, and he _knows_ it’s the advent to him crying. He knows that he’s about to lose it all and start chucking chairs. It’s not until his palms begin to sting that he realizes his nails are back, aggravating the skin into half-moons of pain. He stares at Harry, feeling it all rise up to throttle him, and tosses out the only thing he can think of to say:

“Doesn’t matter.”

He pushes back from his chair, violent enough that it squeals and scrapes nastily across the floor. He doesn’t care. He can’t possibly care when everything is rising to a crest inside him and the walls are closing in and he can’t _breathe._ He doesn’t even look at his friends and he definitely doesn’t hear them calling after him because he stalks to the door and throws it open and goes barreling outside before he can register the sound of their voices.

He walks and walks and walks, pounding down the sidewalk—hands in his pockets, breath coming in sharp gasps—until he stops and ducks into an alley where no one can see him. It’s there in the slight darkness, with no prying eyes, that the tears come rushing out.

Zayn presses his face against the grimy stone, heedless of the potential sicknesses or muck he could be picking up. Instead, he just cries, cries until he wants to scream, and slaps at the wall with ineffectual hands because he can’t punch like he’d like to. That, too, adds to his furor.

It’s all too much, this. He’s angry and sick and _guilty_ and he wishes, more than anything, that he could rewind to two weeks ago so he can brain Liam before he made a prat of himself, before they both turned into arseholes, before all of this happened and his life fell apart. He wishes for it so hard that he’s almost nauseous and slaps at the wall harder, bottling back the frustrated screams he’d love to vent.

It’s not fair, it’s not fair, _it’s not fair._

When he’s cried himself out, Zayn stands there, staring at the brick. His breathing evens out and turns to normal. He wipes his face with his sleeves, until he’s certain it doesn’t look like he’d been crying, and then ducks out into the crowds again, swallowed up by London, lost in it and the crush of the humanity surrounding him again.

—————————————

Zayn stops round Perrie’s flat a few days later, hands shoved into his pockets to hide his nerves. He’d dressed carefully, making sure his hair looked good and his shirt better. It hadn’t been until he’d glanced in the mirror that he’d remembered it had been an outfit he’d worn with Liam and he’d thrown it off, his heart thumping so hard it felt like foot stomps at the back of his throat. So, now, his hair is flat and he’s wearing red and he’s ringing the buzzer to Perrie’s building. There’s an electric whine, the door unlocks, and he slouches inside to take the lift to 413B. He has to wipe sweaty palms on his jeans before he gets to the hallway.

Zayn knocks on the door, feeling nervous because it’s Perrie Edwards and she’s fit and funny and forward. There’s also the vague feeling like _he shouldn’t be here_ but he pushes it away because it’s being a dick and there’s no reason for it to be there in the first place at all. He adjusts the fit of his T-shirt, biting at his lip, and is about to knock again when the door swings open. Perrie beams one mega-watt smile his way, all gorgeous teeth and giant blue eyes. Zayn immediately feels overwhelmed, like he’s been blasted by a molecular gun or sommat like that. Her head’s tilted and it looks like she’s fixing one earring on.

Christ, help him prevent this from getting all awkward. He hates those type of situations and he especially hates them with pretty girls he likes.

“Come in, come in!” Perrie beckons him inside, energy massive. Zayn feels jittery just by association. She seems to be everywhere, all around, all at once. “I’m nearly ready, promise. I’m so sorry, I’m running so behind.”

Zayn moves into the flat, feeling a bit like he’s been hit in the face by a careening truck. She’s a small whirlwind, chattering away in her bright Geordie accent, all blonde hair in a dark outfit. She’s gorgeous and just—just a _a lot_ to take in in thirty seconds. A whole hell of a lot. Zayn wipes his hands on his jeans again, hoping she doesn’t notice, and then she looks up at him expectantly and he startles, scratching the back of his neck, feeling like he’s been caught. God. He is so terrible at this.

“Um. Hi,” he says, because there’s not much else to do.

“Oh, god. I forgot that, didn’t I?” Perrie gives this great big belly laugh, still beaming up at him. It’s making Zayn feel awkward because no one’s been that genuinely excited to see him in the last two weeks since he’s gotten a little dickish and he knows it just like they do. “Hi! You all right?”

She hugs him round the middle, squeezing tight. It surprises a huff of air from Zayn and he stands there for a second, unsure, then wraps his arms around her too. He can smell her shampoo. It’s floral and clean and—nice, he guesses. It feels weird hugging someone who’s not one of the other lads and therefore more of a size with him though. _Really_ weird. That’s the only thing he can think about, except that he can’t decide if her shampoo is violets or lavender. It’s strange being close like this to someone who feels small and delicate and—and _fragile._ Zayn is careful with the pressure he returns, careful in a way he only is around his mum and sisters, but Perrie doesn’t seem to notice when she tilts away just as Zayn has decided her hair _definitely_ smells like lavender. She’s still smiling her giant smile and it makes him smile unintentionally back. She is really, really ridiculously pretty.

“Give me five minutes to finish getting ready, yeah? And then we can go.”

“Um, okay.” There isn’t any choice. From the way she’s phrased it, it’s clear she isn’t looking for approval and he kind of likes that.  “I’ll just—”

“My mum took my brother out for some things, so you can wait or whatever you wanna do.” She waves one hand glittering with rings in his general direction. It seems like a “go ahead” gesture. “Will just be a second.”

She dashes off down the hallway, leaving Zayn standing near the door, blinking slowly and wondering if he’s about to go out with a girl or a force of nature. He kind of reckons it might be both and wonders, for about the twentieth time since he came inside, what he’s doing. He glances round the flat, unsure of whether he should be here or not. It has only been two weeks and his friends—his friends are not down with this at all. Does that mean anything? He doesn’t know whether he should be concerned about it or not. Rather than contemplate it more—and risk giving himself a headache—he slides his hands back into his pockets, rocking forward and back on his his heels, until Perrie comes back after what is definitely more than a second later, grinning hugely.

“Shall we?”

“Yeah, okay.”

She grabs him by the hand and tows him unceremoniously through the door, talking a mile a minute with a pink lipsticked mouth that looks dangerous, far more dangerous than Zayn has ever seen a girl be. He just follows, dumbstruck by the massive energy issuing from in front of him. She’s like the Energizer Bunny; all go, go, go. Zayn’s beginning to think that keeping up with her is going to be a small miracle of sorts. He’s beginning to think he might not honestly be up to the task.

They go to a Chinese place just a few blocks over because it’s her favorite. They eat lo mein with jasmine tea because he has to try it, apparently. Perrie’s happy and spirited, constantly talking with her hands, her face lit up with every emotion she feels. It’s easy to keep a conversation going with her, because he only has to fill in and not really offer anything back. Instead, he watches her, watches how she flips her blonde hair off her shoulders when she’s particularly excited, watches her tiny wrists and compares them with the ones he’s used to. He stays quiet except where he needs to respond and she doesn’t seem to mind.

Zayn is grateful.

He had a crush on this girl last year and the reality of being here, being with her now, is somewhat difficult to wrap his head around, considering where he’d been a month ago. It is rather fun, though, even if his laughter is somewhat forced. He’s frustrated that it is and it’s even _more_ frustrating that he knows why. He throws himself wholeheartedly into the conversation once he realizes it and pays for the both of them when their cheque comes. If Perrie notices any difference in his behavior, she keeps it to herself, and he reckons she must be either a great actress or just very, very nice.

They leave the restaurant to traipse down the sidewalks, melding into the rivers of people, only to become lost among them. Perrie reaches for Zayn’s hand and tugs him after her, smiling all the while. They get ice cream from a tiny little store along the walk; he watches the way she bites at it, lips pink against the cream. The sight is a pretty one and even he can’t deny it. He also can’t deny that her fingers feel nice in his, when he’s used to the hand around his being the same size. He likes the feeling of being bigger, of being a protector, especially when he is no longer being protected. He is lightheaded and heavy-hearted, though he tries to drown it in her laughter.

They talk about their families. She has a brother and loves her mum to death. He tells her of his sisters and his mum and how patient his dad had been with him when he was growing up. They talk about music—she has an overwhelming love for Katy Perry—and figure out that they both like hip-hop. They eat their ice cream, fingers tangled still.

It feels good, getting to know someone and their intricacies. It’s nice, focusing on that instead of how he had gotten to know a boy with much the same questions asked across a small pixelated screen.

It isn’t long until he notices the looks Perrie gives him and, well, shit. He had thought this would come but he wasn’t sure and—Zayn’s finds his eyes lingering on her pink, pink mouth and their fingers tighten. It feels good, being attracted to someone else. It makes everything seem that much more optimistic. It isn’t long until his stomach is tight and his throat tickling. He thought it would take more for him to feel like this but she’s gorgeous and he wants to put his hands around her waist and taste her pink mouth and—

She’s beautiful. She’s hilarious. She’s small and loud and so different from Liam in every way that Zayn can’t even feel guilty for seeing her so soon afterwards. He certainly shouldn’t feel guilt about being attracted to her. Why should he? She and Liam are so different that there are no parallels between them. None at all. Liam is tall and rather shy and laughs from his heart out. Perrie is the complete opposite of him in nearly every way and Zayn shouldn’t feel any guilt over it whatsoever, he _shouldn’t_.

Goddammit.

They end up meandering back to hers and Perrie says her mum and brother are still out. Zayn is having a hard time believing that any of this is happening, but it is. It’s happening when they go into her building. It’s happening when they go into the lift. It’s happening when they get to her floor and she opens the door. Their fingers are tight and their eyes heavy as she draws him down the hallway to her room, smile nothing but a curve of pink in the semi-darkness. His palms are tingling. It’s been only a few weeks since he felt such a need, but it feels like millennia. It’s been even longer since he felt this way about a girl. Zayn’s fingers trace over her cheek and he marvels at how soft her skin is. He hadn’t expected to be here but he doesn’t regret it, not when he looks at her big blue eyes and sees they are just as hungry as his own.

Their first kiss is soft and tastes like jasmine tea and raspberry ice cream. It makes Zayn immediately want more.

They tumble into her room and hit the bed. Their coats seem to melt off and then their hands are everywhere, touching and stroking at warm skin. He looks at her and her flushed cheeks and thinks he’s never seen anything more beautiful. She’s fucking _gorgeous_ and soft and smiling again like she couldn’t be happier. Zayn wants to make her happy. He wants to make her laugh for putting up with him today. He wants to give her something for putting up with all his shit. He wants to make her head spin like his is.

They kiss again and it only makes him want more. One of his hands knots in her hair and pulls. Perrie leans in, apparently not caring, and that makes everything in him flare higher. He’s missed this. Missed feeling bigger and in control. He’s missed perfume and lipstick and long hair and florally smells. They kiss and kiss and kiss like they’re never going to stop. Then he blinks and he’s drawing his shirt over his head to throw it the floor. He blinks again and hers has joined it. All he can see is pink lace. All he can smell is lavender.

“Is this okay?” Perrie leans closer, face pale in the gray light. Her lipstick is almost all gone, a small corner of her mouth smeared with it. Zayn leans in to kiss it off, not caring about the taste. It’s another part of being with a girl and he likes it too, in a strange way.

“Yeah.” He sounds all breathy and rough but doesn’t care about that either. He doesn’t care about how eager he seems. He needs this, needs this to happen so he can get everything out of his system, all the anger and the confusion and the stress. He ignores the voice telling him he’s trying to get _Liam_ out and smiles at Perrie, leaning in to press his mouths to hers again. 

They eventually fall back and she’s above him, hair tickling at his face, lips soft. She licks into his mouth and Zayn sighs, hips arching lazily with response. His hands map over her torso and hers fall to his zipper and then—and then—and then—

Zayn inhales, eyes screwing up as her fingers wrap around his cock. Oh shit. Oh god. He falls into her rhythm, but it just feels _weird._ Off. Wrong. It’s not that she’s bad but—Zayn’s used to big fingers, big hands, and this…this doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel like _enough._ God, what is wrong with him that he can’t even stand to the occasion when a hot girl is all over him? He stares at the ceiling, teeth grit, _willing_ himself to get hard because it’s getting to the point of being embarrassing now. He can feel Perrie’s eyes on him and his own close because, fuck, it’s terrible. He can’t believe that this is actually happening, now of all times.

Perrie’s hands still. Zayn wants to fucking _die._ “Is everything all right?” she asks quietly. “Am I—am I doing this right, Zayn?”

He wishes the earth would open up and swallow him whole. He does _not_ want to have this conversation. He does not want have to look at Perrie and fucking verbalize what’s going on right now. Zayn feels physically ill when he opens his eyes to see her staring back at him.

_Fuck._

“I—yeah, yeah, it’s okay.” 

It’s not but he can’t stand to tell her that, not with her doubt leaking off of her in palpable waves. If that makes him even more of a terrible person, so be it. He’ll deal with it, just like he is everything else going on his fucking life right now.

This is just the icing on the motherfucking cake.

“Are you sure?” 

Perrie gives him another tug and pull. In that moment, Zayn wishes he didn’t have a penis. He wishes he didn’t have one so it wouldn’t be so obvious that he isn’t exactly enthused about the situation. Fuck men and their super obvious pricks. It’s causing him nothing but problems right now. 

“You don’t really seem… that into it.”

“No, no, it’s okay.” He does his best to smile and isn’t sure how successful it is. She doesn’t look exactly convinced. “I just—take a while to get started.” He’s thankful it’s dark so she can’t see him flush at the stupidest thing he’s ever said in his life. Ever.

“All right. Well, let’s try something else, shall we? Something a little more…hands-on.” Perrie tosses her head and starts moseying down his body, eyeing him steadily. Zayn feels a bolt of anticipation go zinging through his midriff and, yes yes yes, straight to his dick. That’s good. That’s very good.

Her mouth falls onto him, all wet heat, and Zayn bites his lip, feeling himself responding. At least there’s that. At least _this_ seems to be working. A blowjob is a blowjob after all…or is it? Because he can tell, so clearly now, the contrast between a bloke and a girl doing it. Or is it the contrast between Perrie and Liam? Is that what the essential difference is? Zayn finds himself wishing, again, for what he had before with a type of yearning he’d usually only associate with the need for water after a long and exhausting run in the middle of July.

That seems to decide things for him pretty quickly.

“Perrie. Perrie, stop.” Zayn grabs her by the arm and pulls her gently up before he can fully accept what it is he’s doing. Niall would kill him for doing, absolutely murder him and scatter all the pieces. “Please.”

Perrie follows his directing and his stomach flips to see the insecurity on her face. He can’t believe he’s doing it, he can’t believe he’s stopping her, stopping _this_ but—

“I can’t do this.” He sits up slowly and they withdraw into their own separate spaces automatically. He rubs her arm briefly before letting his hand drop, unsure if it’s appropriate to touch her now or not. Zayn draws his pants and jeans back up his hips and wishes, briefly, that she would put her shirt back on. It’d make things that much less awkward. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t do this.”

“Is something wrong?”

“No. No. Not with—not with you.”

“So what’s going on?” She frowns. “Is this about Liam?”

Zayn swallows, eyes closing. He considers it, thinking of everything that has just transpired in the last five minutes. He thinks of what he had just been wishing for and sighs. His nod is ragged.

“Yeah…yeah, I think it is.”

“You love him,” Perrie states simply.

Zayn can only nod again. 

He wants more than he could say that he could go through with this. He doesn’t _want_ to push her away. He doesn’t _want_ to still be reeling over the loss of Liam but he is and he can’t stop it and it makes him feel all the worse for what happened…and what nearly happened…

“I can’t do this, Perrie,” Zayn repeats. 

He stares at his hands and sees Liam’s, remembers their phantom touch. He swallows down the tears crowding the back of his throat because he’s not going to add to the discomfort of their situation by crying on top of everything else. That’d be bloody fantastic.

“I—I can’t when he’s all in my head like this and…it’s not fair to you. None of this is fair to you.”

She touches his shoulder and his eyes shutter closed. “It’s okay, Zayn. It’s okay, I get it.”

“It’s not okay. I never should have—I’m not ready—”

“You want him back,” she says simply. Zayn’s eyes fly open but Perrie’s just watching him, compassion all too apparent.

He stares for a moment and then nods again in the darkness, too scared to give voice to his wish should it disappear. Here, with Perrie, and memories of Liam all around, he feels like he’s delicate enough to puncture, like he’s nothing but the most stretched out of bubbles and just as akin to burst. If he says it, if he says he actually misses him, if he acts like he’s not fine for just _one second_ , it will all disappear.

_Pop!_

Gone forever.

And Perrie, God bless her, doesn’t push. She just leans back and fumbles at the floor, pulling her shirt over her head without another word. Zayn sits there, not knowing what else to do. She’s back in a moment, smiling gently, saving him from trying to piece together if that was his cue to leave or not.

“So, this didn’t go the way I planned.” They laugh weakly until she sighs, fingers threading through his own. “I saw the two of you around college this term, yeah? Looked like you got on really well. Like there were little cartoon hearts coming out your eyes every time you looked at each other. I used to wish you’d look at me like that, you know?”

“Really?” Zayn breathes quiet laughter. “I had no clue.”

“Yeah, ever since I was fourteen. Seemed mad, didn’t it, until I decided to ask you out when you seemed single and you said yes.” She smiles at him and Zayn thinks he sees a flash of something like regret before it’s gone again. “I wondered that it hadn’t been long since I’d seen those cartoon hearts going his way, but I wanted them too, so I didn’t think about it. Much.”

“I’m sorry,” Zayn whispers again. “I’m so sorry, Perrie.”

“Don’t be.” She squeezes his hand. “You’re not ready and I’m not pushing, just telling you my side, cus I want those hearts, Zayn Malik, but I’m not gonna go round taking them from a perfectly good lad just because I do.”

“What are you saying exactly?” he asks slowly. His ability to read between the lines has been exhausted what with the emotional night this has turned into, compounded by the fact that he’s still half-hard and reeling from the change of pace.

“I’m telling you I want to help you. I want to see you looking happy again, Zayn, and it seems like he’s the best way for you to be, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah…I think so. Mad, innit?”

“Not so mad as a girl going goofy over a fit bloke who’d just broken up with his boyfriend and thinking she wouldn’t be the rebound.”

They laugh quietly, both somewhat pained, until her head droops to his shoulder. Their palms squeeze, returning a gentle pressure back and forth. Zayn isn’t sure he’s ever been more grateful to another person than he is to her. She’s radiant and he wishes whichever bloke she does end up with the best of luck, because he’ll be round to punch his teeth in if he treats her wrong. She deserves the world and the moon and anything else she could ever want. Zayn would give it all to her, if he could.

“Promise me something?” Perrie whispers. Zayn nods, relieved to be close to someone for the moment, happy he’s not feeling angry and confused and out his head anymore. It’d been a long two weeks.

“Yeah, anything.”

“Promise me we’ll be friends? We don’t have to be, like, proper mates but I just want to be friends. Can we do that?”

“I think we could.” Zayn gives her fingers a squeeze and then, because it seems fitting, leans in to kiss her temple softly. “Especially if you don’t give me shit about not getting up for you.”

She laughs, louder than she has since they started really talking, and slaps his arm lightly. “I never promised that.”

“I’m just saying it’d be a right pain in the arse explaining I was gone over some dude and couldn’t get it up for the most gorgeous girl at school.”

“You reckon so?”

“Yeah, definitely, babes.”

Perrie laughs again and kisses his cheek, quick as a flash before she moves away. “All right then. I promise, especially so we can be friends. You’ll owe me anyways, since I’m going to help you get Liam back.”

“But, like, can’t the lads help me out or something too? We’re all friends.”

“That’s why they can’t. They’re all too close to the situation and the two of you to get a proper look at it. It’s why you need me.”

“Oh, I do, do I?” Zayn laughs, taking the piss because he can, even though what Perrie is saying makes sense. Her confidence is certainly contagious.

“Yes, you do. Clearly. How long has it been? A week? Two weeks?”

“Two weeks.” Zayn jerks a shoulder and tries for a joke. “Clearly I’m doing really well.”

“I think I’d like to argue that one.”

“Do you really wanna help? Like, really?”

“Yes, _really._ Really really. But I need to know what happened so I can.”

“Yeah, okay…Makes sense…”

Zayn curls toward her and her quiet and spills his words into the small space that exists between them. In between small sighs and softly murmured words, he tells her the story of Liam and him. He tells her of his bleeding heart and the last two insomniatic weeks. He tells her of his fight with the other boys. He tells her everything, because she listens, one hundred percent, and doesn’t try to comfort and soothe him through it. No one’s _just_ listened to him and let him shed his silence since this all began.

At the end, he feels better, enough so to be noticeable. His words had been a weight and telling them to Perrie has taken that away. Simple, but huge. He holds her hand, breathing in the darkness of her room and the smell of her lavender shampoo. His heart thuds, because he hasn’t spoken so much at one time in what seems like years. He wonders what she’s thinking, all circumstances considered. He hopes it’s good things.

“You love him a lot,” Perrie finally whispers. She sounds a bit awed and it would make Zayn feel uncomfortable normally but, as it is, he’s spilled the last few months of his life to her so that’s kind of a moot point by now.

“Yeah, yeah I do.” He coughs out a laugh, head shaking. “It’s fucking mental, innit, but I do. He’s one of the best people I know.”

“Good. That’s why we’re gonna get your boy back.”

“And that’s why we’re going to be friends. Plus, you’re really fit.”

Perrie shrieks out a laugh and pushes him over, making Zayn laugh too. They push and slap at one another ineffectively until he ruffles her hair up and she punches him in the throat and it dissolves into more hilarity and wrestling from there.

And Zayn is happy. He’s hopeful. He’s excited. He’s looking forward to talking to Liam and working through this because he loves him— _he loves him_ —and he can’t let that go just yet.

All it took was Perrie Edwards to make him see that.

——————————————————————————

Zayn and Perrie planned and plotted all weekend but it doesn’t seem like enough. No matter which way they came at it, they both couldn’t get past that he and Liam needed to just _talk._ Zayn wasn’t exactly one for flash and, besides, he and Perrie had agreed that the best way to handle it was being honest. That just entails a lot more than Zayn had thought it would.

At the end of the day, some of the things Liam had told him that night on the pitch had been closer to the truth than Zayn would have liked them to have been. Clearly Liam had been wrong about this being “just a phase,” but he hadn’t been off the mark when he had said Zayn was scared—because he is. He’d really only just come out to his friends when he and Liam had started officially dating and no one else knows, especially not his family.

That’s something he decides needs to change.

So Sunday, after their dinner, he helps his mum with the clean up. His sisters have scampered off to do coursework and watch telly, so they’re left alone. If she thinks it’s weird, she doesn’t say anything. They pick up quietly for a while, clearing the table and bringing all the dinnerware into the kitchen to package up the leftovers. Zayn is so worried about talking to his mum that he feels almost sick from it, throat all tight and hands sweaty. He doesn’t want to tell his mum, he really doesn’t, but if there’s any hope whatsoever of salvaging things with Liam, he needs to do it.

More than that, he needs to do it for himself.

Finally, after minutes that seem agonizing, Trisha reaches over and grabs his hand, stopping him from drying a plate. She peeks round at him, smiling, though she has her Concerned Eyebrows on. Zayn realizes, not for the first time, that they look a lot like Liam’s when he has that look on too. He wonders, slightly panicky, if he has them as well. Is it possible that he’d inherited it? Or maybe just picked it up from the other boy? Can you do that?

“Is everything all right, love? You’ve been drying that same plate for over two minutes.”

Zayn frowns and sets the plate away, picking up the next one absentmindedly. His mum’s staring at him still, apparently waiting for an answer. He wonders why his hands aren’t shaking or why he’s not vomiting all over the counter because it seems like a very, very close call. He can say without a doubt, that this is the most nervous he’s ever been in his entire life.

Zayn looks down at the plate, tracing the blue china glaze, noticing the brushstrokes that had made it up. He’d say it was amateur work but he knows fuck all about painting. It’s just serving as another distraction. Realizing it, he clears his throat and turns to his mum—the absolute rock in his life and the strongest and most beautiful woman he knows—and he freezes.

Trisha is up to nearly her elbows in water and soap, washing off the dishes from dinner, but she’s lovely for it, despite her hair being a bit flyaway and her eyes a little tired. It hurts in that moment knowing how much he loves her and how much he might disappoint her because of this. His mum has given up so much for his family to make sure that they’re happy and Zayn couldn’t stand it, he absolutely couldn’t stomach it, if he upset her or let her down. He could stand anyone else, even the girls, but never, ever Trisha Malik.

It hits him in that moment how ridiculous it is that he’s going to talk to her about his sexuality or whatever when they’re washing dishes in the kitchen and his sisters could come in at any moment. It seems a bit mad because it’s a Sunday night and they’d had a nice roast like any other English family and yet, here he is, about to drop a bomb into their lives.

His mum rinses off the next plate and sets it in the rack for him to dry with the others and then turns full-on to look at him, faucet still running and her wrists covered with suds.

“Darling, what is it? You’re starting to worry me now. It’s not like you not to spit out something you need to say. Go on then.”

Except he’d never needed to tell her something like _this._ There’s never been anything of this magnitude or weight, not even when he’d broken the expensive toy motorbike she’d gotten him for his birthday just hours after he’d unwrapped it and had to go and tell her.

Zayn takes a deep breath, hoping it will still all the chaos inside of him. He looks his mum in the eye, remembering how much she loves him and all of the things she has done for him and for his sisters. He remembers it as he opens his mouth and tells her—

“Mum, I like boys.”

He can tell she’s surprised. He can tell she wasn’t expecting _that_ because her eyes get big and her mouth drops a bit before she catches it. Zayn is so nervous he feels like he might fall apart at the seams, just rip apart and fall into nothing but his own anxiety and nerves. A thousand thoughts fly through his head all at once, worst possible situations and accusations and tears. Would Louis let him live with him? Maybe Harry would. His mum is a lovely woman and probably wouldn’t mind having someone else around, especially since he’s not nearly as chatty as Harry is. Would that ever work out? Would he have to share a room with the other boy? He’s not quite sure he’d be able to snuff it because Harry is a slob and it’d get on his nerves fairly quickly. Maybe he’d just be able to kip on the couch—-?

“Zayn,” his mum says, bringing him out of his wild imagined world. Thank God. He was worrying what he’d do if Harry’s socks ever ended up on his side of the room and how he’d tell him he needed to be neater. “What are you trying to say exactly? Are you—are you telling me that you’re gay?”

There it is, there’s that word again. _Gay._ It’s been something he’s been avoiding for a while now, because you’re not supposed to like it. The kids at primary all made fun of the one boy in their year who liked playing pony games with the girls instead of kicking a football around the yard with the boys. They called him gay in their sharp little voices, not even knowing what it meant, just that it meant he was different. In Year Eight, Joe Accorsi kissed Ian Watkins at a party and was teased so much for it the next day that he’d gone to the loos and cried all during lunch hour. Zayn had seen it all and so, so much more. He’d been there for it. For fuck’s sake, he’d _done_ some of it.

And then, when he’d gotten a little drunk at the odd party or two, he’d found himself exchanging sloppy kisses with boys with soft hands and more than a little alcohol on their breath too but it hadn’t meant anything. It certainly hadn’t meant he was _gay._ They’d just been kisses and he’d been drunk and it didn’t matter because people always did mental, stupid, ridiculous things when they were pissed. But the kisses had been nice and made his belly go all funny and his hands itch in a way that kissing girls never had and that had made him want it more. That had turned into hands in places they hadn’t gone before then James was watching him when they went out because he’d caught him kissing a bloke and Zayn had been a wreck of confusion and guilt—

And then he’d met Liam.

Thinking of the other boy, with his soft hair and his crinkly-eyed smile makes him feel better. He takes a deep breath. Zayn keeps him at the forefront of his mind—with his kindness and his laugh and his strength—and looks his mum dead in the eye. No going back now. Not ever again. He nods, knowing that this is the biggest hurdle he’s ever crossed in his life.

“Yeah, I am. And Liam—Liam wasn’t a new mate. He was…he was my boyfriend.”

“Oh.” Trisha watches him and he wonders how her world is realigning. He wonders if they’re going to be okay. He swallows, nervous, though the sick feeling has backed off, if only slightly. It’s out of his hands now, innit. “Okay, that’s—all right. Okay.”

“Mum—” he starts but she shakes her head, reaching out to touch his face with soft fingertips slightly pruned from washing.

“I love you,” she murmurs. “I love you so very much.”

“I love you too.” Zayn’s a bit thrown—okay, maybe a lot because he was expecting some sort of opposition—but his mum leans in and up to lay a gentle kiss on his forehead before she hugs him, squeezing tightly. “I’m always going to love you, Zayn. You’re always going to be my sunshine. This is…a lot to take in but—okay.”

“Okay? Like…okay okay?”

“Like okay okay.” She laughs a bit damply. “It’s a lot to take in and adjust to but…but you’re still my son and, at the end of the day, every day, I still love you.”

“But the—”

She shakes her head, effectively stopping anything else he might have said. “No but’s.” 

Trisha leans away then and Zayn is able to see her properly again. It makes everything in him swell up to the point that his throat is tight and his chest about to burst. Her eyes might be a little teary, but she doesn’t look upset. She doesn’t look angry. She looks—shocked, a little, but she’s not angry and that makes him feel impossibly happy because _it is going to be okay._ That thought, in and of itself, makes everything a hundred times easier because his mum loves him and she accepts him—for everything he is.

Zayn feels tears prick at his eyes and doesn’t try and bat them down, because he and his mum are having a _fucking moment_ and tears are okay. If living in a household of mostly women has taught him anything, it’s that sometimes tears are had for good reasons and that’s perfectly all right. Healthy, even, innit.

They move to the couch, dishes abandoned, and he tells her everything—or as near as he can get without cringing because his mum doesn’t need to know all the dirty details. He tells her about kissing the first boy he did at a party and how he’d always thought David Beckham was fit—and he tells her about Liam. He spends what feels like an hour telling her everything about the boy he fell in love with: from Liam’s laugh to his love for Batman and his family and, basically, everything he knows about him.

Except for the sex. He’s doesn’t tell his mum about that. Or the almost blowjob in his room upstairs. His mum _definitely_ doesn’t need to know about that one.

They hold each other for a while after his speakathon, her arms around him like they used to do when he was little and poorly. It had made him feel better then and it makes him feel even better now. What they say about a mother’s love seems unaccountably true for him and he’s so glad this didn’t turn into one of those horror stories he’d read on the Internet. He’s proud of his mum and loves her so much it’s like a beaming spotlight in his body, illuminating everything else.

They kiss each other goodnight and hug one last time, trading “I love you’s” before going their separate ways, Zayn upstairs and Trisha to the kitchen, to finish cleaning up as if nothing monumental had just happened.

Bless her.

Zayn crawls into bed, smiling to himself beneath the duvet. He knows now that everything is going to be all right and that somehow, someway, it’s all going to work out. He knows that he can get Liam back because he has his mum—the single most important woman in his life—on his side now too.

——————————————————————

He gets to school the next day, his mum’s unequivocal love like some kind of amulet in his soul, nerdy as it sounds. He feels a bit like Harry Potter and like telling his mum had fortified him for today. He’s going to talk to Liam today. He’s going to try and get him back. It’s going to work and everything will be all right—

Except that it’s proving impossible.

It seems like the entire world is out to get him because he can’t seem to get Liam alone. He’d tried after English, he’d tried during lunch, he’d tried after the last bell rang and nothing. The other boy was constantly surrounded by other people or never looked up when Zayn tried to catch his eye. It’s incredibly frustrating, but he guesses it’s nothing less than what he deserves with how he treated Liam. There’s nothing for it now except to get changed out for football and hope that somehow he’ll be able to talk to Liam before or after practice.

He, Niall, and Louis take the bus to their practice fields together, Harry on a separate one with Liam. Zayn really has no idea how they’re managing these crazy schedules and switch-offs but he doesn’t try and think about it too hard because hopefully, _hopefully_ , it won’t be lasting for too much longer.

Please, god, let this all work out.

He doesn’t know how he’s going to get Liam to talk to him and it’s something he’s been struggling with all day. Perrie told him just to go up to him but that seems to brash. It seems too assuming. Zayn told the other boy very clearly that he never wanted to talk to him again. Going up to him now and asking to talk just seems—it just seems _wrong_ somehow. But how? How can he talk to him and how is this—

“Jesus, will you _stop?_ ” Louis’ voice is sharp but his eyes are slotted with something entirely different than irritation. “I’d think you were Haz with the way you’re bouncing around. You all right?”

“Yeah, fine.” One of Zayn’s shoulders jerks in a shrug.

“You sure?” Louis watches him skeptically, clever face considering. “I haven’t seen you this antsy since you had that limited edition Batman comic.”

“I’m fine.” Zayn meets his eyes from a moment and then throws up his hands before he buries his face against his palms, speaking through his fingers so he doesn’t have to see the two other boys watching him. “I’ve been trying to talk to Liam all day.”

“Oh really?”

“Trying?” Niall asks from the other side of Louis.

Zayn groans into his hands. “Yeah, trying. I could never get him alone and I want to try after practice but—”

“The world made it hard, like it always does in these types of situations,” Louis fills in.

“Yeah. I just—I just need to talk to him.”

“What about?” Louis sounds casual but Zayn can _feel_ the intensity of his curiosity. 

He suddenly wonders if this is a good idea, telling Louis and Niall, the notorious troublemakers that they are. Had Harry been here, he would have immediately launched into some sort of plan to make sure he and Liam wound up alone together, because he’s a hopeless romantic and doesn’t even try to hide it.

Niall and Louis though…

Zayn sighs, knowing he has no other choice and besides, what the hell, maybe his friends will rise to the occasion. They’ve done it many a time before, bless them.

“I want to apologize,” Zayn mumbles into his fingers, still not quite able to look at his two mates. “I want to see if we can get back together…”

He doesn’t have to be able to see to know that the sharp inhale he just heard was Louis and, well, Niall’s laugh is about as identifiable as you can get. Zayn groans, raking his hands through his hair as if it will release his pent-up frustration.

“I know it’s stupid, I know it’s mad, but I’ve got try. I _have_ to. I love him and—”

“How can we help?” Louis interrupts.

“What?” Zayn looks up, completely shocked, and then feels ashamed because he is. “You want to help?”

“Of course we do.” Niall cuts in, laughing slightly still. He’s cheerful and happy, waves of it coming off of him. “It’s been miserable the last couple of weeks with the two of you not together and so, yeah, we want to help.”

“Oh. Okay.” Zayn shakes his head. The love and support he’s received in the last two days is slightly staggering and he doesn’t really deserve it. From his mum, yeah, sure, because she’s his mum. But he’s been shit to his friends lately and this sort of support is—overwhelming. He should give every single one of them gift baskets or something. “But how?”

“We’ll figure it out.” Louis smiles, eyes blazing with that light that means he’s got _plans._ Zayn doesn’t care. Plans are good. He needs plans. He’s run out of them so maybe Louis, somewhat maniacal mastermind that he is, can figure it out. Zayn is at his wit’s ends. “Promise, Z. We’re gonna work on it.”

“Thank you,” he whispers fervently. “I couldn’t think of what else to do and I need this to happen and—”

“It’s okay.” Louis pats his knee, smile huge. Zayn can’t help but smile back.

Louis has been one of his best mates nearly his entire life, ever since he moved to London. They’ve been through fights and pranks and whispered confessions and more than he can fully grasp. Years’ worth of history. It’s only fitting Louis would help him with this—it makes sense that Louis would _want_ to help with this—and Zayn wonders why he never thought to tell them or ask for help because, contrary to what Perrie said, he trusts Louis, and the rest of the boys, with his life so something like fixing things with Liam?

It’s going to be a cinch with them on his side.

Zayn nods and throws an arm over Louis’ shoulder, beaming at Niall too who just shrugs back happily. They can do this. They can figure it out. He’s got his boys, so what could go wrong?

“Yeah, yeah it will,” he mumbles, and knows down deep in his bones how true it is.

—————————————————

Practice is nerve-wracking, if only because Louis and the other lads were whispering all the way up until the first whistle and Zayn has no idea what is going on. Louis just told him to wait and they’d tell him what to do but the waiting is killing him. He’s a normally very patient person but he’s been waiting _weeks_ to have this conversation with Liam and, for some reason, it feels as if time is rushing forward and he needs to catch the moment and hold onto it before it’s gone.

Liam. He needs to hold onto Liam before he’s gone.

Zayn watches him during practice. He watches the way he laughs and seems relaxed around some of their teammates. How they’ve become friends. He wonders if it’s them that Liam goes out to pizza with now and has to shove the thought aside because it’s not one he can entertain. Not with what he has on tonight’s agenda. He also keeps looking at the other guys, who just shrug and point to Louis, who’s directing drills as co-captain.

And apparently directing their plan, the plan that Zayn knows nothing about. Jesus.

He should be paying more attention to practice and not the people there because they’re prepping for their next big match. If they win, they go onto the championship match of their league. They’re playing against the Cats, their biggest rivals, in three days’ time and Zayn needs to be paying attention. This is their biggest match to date but—he’s distracted.

And he pays for it more than once when he gets tripped up and falls and takes a ball to the face.

Niall laughs every time, of course, because he’s Niall and he’s secretly five and Zayn can’t really blame him. He gets it. He’s being a bloody moron and he knows it. He just can’t seem to _focus_ and he can’t settle down because he’s going to talk to Liam tonight and the prospect is exciting but also terrifying because what if he brushes him off? What if Liam brushes Zayn aside like Zayn did him? He’s so nervous at the thought that he’s almost sick from it. He knows it’s a possibility—and a high one at that—but he hopes that Liam’s good natured ways will stop him from being as rude as Zayn was.

Plus, he texted him, Liam did. Right after they broke up. And he tried to talk to him that Monday at school. And he texted him again, saying he still loved him. That had to mean something, didn’t it? Didn’t it at least seem to say that Liam would still be up to talking to Zayn, especially if it meant they were trying to figure it out?

He hopes so. He prays so. God, he’d do anything Louis asked of him for a year if it meant that he and Liam got back together. _That’s_ how serious he is about it.

Practice gets closer and closer to the end and Zayn focuses more, throwing himself into the drills and scrimmage they have at the end because it helps with the nerves boiling at the bottom of his belly. Coach doesn’t give him his squinty eyed, what-the-hell-were-you-doing look when he calls the end of practice huddle so Zayn thinks that his distraction at the beginning was forgotten. It’s back in full force now, though, because the end of practice huddle means the _end of practice_ and he still has no bloody idea what the hell he’s doing or what the boys have concocted. No matter how many pointed looks he sends their way, they just shrug and make eyes at Louis, who fastidiously ignores him.

Which really doesn’t help with the nerves.

They break and do a chant and head back to the changing rooms, most of the lads all talking and laughing, having become a little unit over the course of the season. Zayn would normally notice it and smile. He would normally reminisce over how different it was when they’d all tried out and been thrown together, virtually strangers, but he doesn’t have the space left in his mind because it’s all preoccupied with Liam. Liam who is walking ahead of him with Tommy Gorgeson and Ezekiel Lake. Liam who is smiling and laughing and clearly at ease. Liam who looks really fucking fit in his football kit.

Nope, nope, back it up, Malik. Dangerous territory. That is definitely not something he should be thinking of right now, no matter how true it is.

They get inside and boys start changing out, pulling T-shirts and jeans on now they’re free. Zayn tries, and fails, not to notice the line of Liam’s back or the curve of his hips and forces himself to turn away. He shouldn’t be this goddamn horny, especially since he’d had Perrie _fucking_ Edwards kissing him of the weekend—except that didn’t go far, because she wasn’t Liam and that’s what’s gotten him into this mess. Well, that, and the fact that he’d made a giant mistake.

Zayn dawdles, wondering if he’s going to get instructions on what’s going down or what to expect, but none come. Niall is the first to go. He gives Zayn a pat on the back and a wink before he saunters out, mobile to his ear and the word “babe” on his lips. Zayn wonders who the lucky lady is but then other mates are saying goodbye and then Louis and Liam— _and Liam_ why is Liam leaving?—head out. Louis leans around Zayn before they exit the door and mouths “wait” to him with a giant wink and a thumbs up. Zayn just stands there, more confused than he’s ever been in his entire life. Wait? Wait for what?

He pulls his shirt over his head slowly, frowning at the green metal locker in front of him. He has no idea what he’s supposed to be waiting for, because no one is telling him anything and it’s becoming _extremely_ frustrating. But whatever. He’ll wait for ten minutes and then leave. He’ll figure out what to do about Liam later, if this—whatever _this_ is—doesn’t work out.

He hitches his jeans up on his hips, trying to think of what he _would_ do if he has to try and talk to Liam again when the boy himself walks through the door. Zayn stops on the verge of doing his button, feeling like an idiot. Liam looks just as confused.

They’re also alone.

“Louis—Louis said he needed me to grab his jacket. You seen it?”

Zayn just shakes his head dumbly, because the plan is good and devastatingly simple. He watches Liam wander back towards the lockers to where Louis had changed out, his heart pounding in the vicinity of his throat.

Now or never. Big breath. Take the plunge.

“Liam—” Zayn starts as Liam talks at the same time.

“I don’t think—what?”

He looks up with big Bambi eyes, clearly shocked that he’s being spoken to directly. That makes Zayn’s insides twist and shrivel up a bit because he did that, he did that to Liam, and he can only hope that he can fix it now too. Please, god, let him fix it.

“I…I wanted to talk to you.”

“All right.” Liam moves closer, arms crossing over his chest. Walls up. Zayn really can’t blame him in the least.

“I just…I wanted to…” Zayn doesn’t know how to say what he needs to because he’s scared the words are going to come out twisted and wrong. He wants them to be perfect. He _needs_ them to be perfect so that he can win Liam back. Saying the wrong thing here isn’t going to do that and he’s terrified of it, filled with the dread of it.

“I was wrong.” He swallows and looks up at the other boy because he knows he needs to. “I was wrong about it all. If I could take back every single word I said that night, I would.”

“Zayn—” Liam breathes but he just shakes his head and keeps going.

“I’m sorry for hurting you, Liam, more than I can even say. I’m angry with myself for it, so angry. You didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve me saying any of that to you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. I’m especially sorry for not letting you talk to me. It could have solved a lot of pain on both our ends.”

“It could have.” Liam nods. He’s edged closer slightly, body tipping towards Zayn. It’s something, at least. “But it doesn’t change it.”

“No.” Zayn sighs, chewing at the inside of his lip nervously. Please, god, let this work. Bring some magic or salvation into his life. He needs a bloody miracle. “It doesn’t but I wish I could.”

“But you can’t.”

“No, I can’t.” Zayn shrugs helplessly. “But I would if I could. I was pissed and keyed up from the match and my entire body _hurt_. It’s no excuse for what happened but there was just so _much_ and I overreacted.”

Liam laughs, the sound hollow, his head shaking slightly from side to side. “I appreciate the apology then. I’m sorry too. I’m sorry for how everything happened.”

He starts towards the door then, clearly intent on leaving. No no no. He can’t leave. Not now. Zayn hasn’t said everything he needs to yet. His fear blossoms and overtakes him so that he reaches out blindly for the other boy, hand closing around his wrist to stop him.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

“Leaving.” Liam’s looking at him like he’s mental and maybe he is. He feels like it. He also feels like he can’t breathe because his throat is constricted by a band of anxiety.

“But—I wasn’t done.”

“You weren’t done?” Liam frowns. “What do you mean? You apologized, I apologized. We’re good. I’ll leave you alone now.”

“I don’t want that,” Zayn rushes out. “I don’t want you to leave me alone.”

“I don’t understand.” Liam’s mouth works around the words carefully, his forehead wrinkled with confusion. Zayn wants to kiss each and every line smooth, given half the chance.

“I’m not sure I do either. Why do you think I want you to leave me alone?”

“Ehm, the last two weeks?” Liam coughs out a brittle laugh. “And—well—”

“What? What else?”

Liam mumbles something and Zayn leans closer, fingers still round the other boy’s wrist. He can feel his pulse jumping and hopes it’s a good thing. Is that a good thing? He can’t remember if it’s supposed to be a good thing or not.

“I—I didn’t quite catch that.”

“What about Perrie?” Liam looks up at him and, god, the look on his face is enough to make Zayn feel even worse. Liam is betrayed. He’s hurt. He’s devastated. It’s all right there in those big brown eyes Zayn has come to love so much. He wants to hit himself for putting that look there. He wants to hit himself because his mates had warned him about this and he’d been too much of a prat to listen.

“Perrie’s just a friend,” Zayn says firmly, giving Liam’s wrist a squeeze. “We went out once and it—it didn’t work out.”

“Why?” Liam questions. “She’s beautiful. Heard she’s liked you for a while.”

“Yeah, well.” Zayn shrugs. “I couldn’t give her what she wanted.”

“What does that even mean?” He pulls away from Zayn, eyebrows low. “You couldn’t give her what she wanted?”

“Ehm.” Zayn flounders, unsure of how much he can say. Is Perrie going to be mad at him for telling Liam, of all people, why they’re just mates? He decides that Liam doesn’t exactly need to hear all the dirty details. “She wanted a boyfriend and I couldn’t give that to her because I could only think of you whilst I was with her.”

“What?” Liam breathes it, as if he didn’t entirely want to voice it. “You—what?”

Zayn laughs quietly. “Yeah. Beautiful girl, gorgeous, you know, and I could only think about you. I thought about the times we went out and how it was always such a laugh. I thought about your laugh and how much you love people watching. I could only think about your hands and your mouth and just…just _you._ ”

“Are you serious?”

“One hundred percent.” Zayn spreads his hands, smile weak and a little foolish, like he feels in this moment. Jesus. Could this be anymore awkward? So much for winning Liam back. He’s not even being _smooth._ “She was a bit put out over it but understood when I told her I’m still in love with you.”

Liam rocks forward and backward on his heels, expression impossible to read. Zayn wishes he could touch him again. He wishes he could trace the curves of his mouth and the corners of his eyes so he could maybe, maybe, figure out just what Liam is feeling.

He’s hoping so fervently that it’s good that he feels fairly unsettled because of it.

“You told her you’re still in love with me?” Liam asks quietly, watching Zayn so seriously it makes his heart pound a little harder.

“Yes.” Zayn watches him back, hooked. “These last few weeks have been miserable without you and I wish they’d never happened. I fucked up, Li, and I know it. I’m so sorry. I—”

“I’m sorry too,” Liam blurts out, interrupting him but it’s not as if he cares, not with what the other boy is saying. “I’m so sorry. I never should have said some of the shit I did on the pitch. I was just upset and mad and—”

“Me too. I’m so sorry, Liam. I’ll make it up to you anyway I can, please just—”

“I love you too,” Liam rushes on and Zayn stops, mind wiped blank because hearing those words again is more than he had ever hoped for. “I messed up just as much and I’m so sorry. I don’t ever want to be mad at you like that again.”

“Me either. It was terrible.”

“Seriously awful.”

“What do we do now?” Zayn slides closer, glancing at the ground and then back up at Liam, unaccountably nervous again. His belly roils with it. “Are we okay? Do we—”

“We kiss and make up,” Liam whispers.

They hover as if scared to disrupt the peace they’ve created, but the next second surge forward, arms twisting round each other, their mouths locked. Zayn makes an embarrassingly needy noise, pressing even closer, and bunches a hand in Liam’s short hair. Their kissing is not graceful or nice in any way—it’s desperate and too hard and their teeth clash. They hold onto one another hard, fingers white-knuckled with reckless need. It’s everything he needs in that moment and he can’t imagine it being perfect like in the films because they’re not perfect. Never have been. Never will be.

It’s a great place to be.

“Please,” Zayn mumbles against the other boy’s skin. “Please.”

“What do you wa—”

“ _Please._ ”

Lips fuse and they’re stumbling backward until Zayn’s back hits a locker, the ridges of it and the lock digging into his skin. He doesn’t care. He couldn’t possibly care, because Liam is even harder and insistent against his other side. His shirt is ripped over his head and tossed away, Liam’s mouth and his teeth and his tongue darting over his skin in its absence.

Zayn is completely overwhelmed but it’s a good overwhelmed. It’s fireworks in his head and clouds swimming across his vision, because it’s Liam touching him and it’s Liam kissing him. The difference between this and Perrie is astronomical.

Because this is _real._ Because this what he wants and loves and craves.

Liam. Just Liam.

There’s tugging and pulling and frantic little breaths and then Zayn is bent over one of the benches, chanting “yes, yes, yes” like it’s the only thing he can think of and Liam is behind him, scrabbling at his back, breath harsh in his ear. The next second, Zayn hears the sound of the other boy’s zip and his own jeans are ripped from his hips. He feels Liam, pausing there, before he feels his fingers against his skin and then inside him.

Zayn actually moans from the bottom of his toes and arches back against the feeling of his long fingers, panting already. Liam just laughs breathlessly and spreads him wide, working at him for a desperate minute or two. When he pulls away, Zayn whines like the pathetic idiot he is but then he feels the head of Liam’s cock against his arse and looks over his shoulder at the other boy, biting his lip hard to keep from demanding he keep going.

God, he is fucking _beautiful._

Liam is wrecked, his hair a mess and his cheeks pink. He’s biting his lip too, looking at the sight of his cock lined up against Zayn’s arse, and then his eyes flick up and he sees Zayn watching him and he _smirks_ , this sort of devilish look crossing his face before he slides into Zayn, eyes never leaving his. And if that doesn’t just go straight to Zayn’s head, he doesn’t know what would.

It’s rough. It hurts a bit because they weren’t prepared but it seems fitting. Zayn breathes through the first few strokes because they twinge and then Liam leans over him to kiss him and he forgets all about the slight pain and focuses on the fact that Liam is here with him and they’re okay. They’re okay, they’re okay, they’re okay.

It’s sloppy and more than just a bit messy. They both end up with scratches and bites and are so loud that Zayn is worried, in the small part of his brain still functioning, that someone will come and see them. He also knows he’ll be feeling this for days afterward but can’t quite care about _that_ because it, too, is fitting. And wanted, in a somewhat masochistic way he can’t explain in any other way except it will prove that he’s Liam’s again and Liam is his.

 _Fuck_.

When Liam starts to tremble, Zayn arches further back into him, wanting more than anything for him to come first. They kiss again, teeth clacking, nails biting into skin, as Liam pounds against him, hips slapping his so hard Zayn wonders that they might be bruised in a matters of a few hours.

He doesn’t mind.

They sprint to the end, his arms aching from holding himself up off the bench but that just seems to make it all the better, all the more worthwhile. Liam lets out a strangled moan that goes straight to Zayn’s dick and thrusts into him, hard, another two times before he stills and comes with another moan that makes Zayn’s eyes roll. 

He reaches for himself, intent on finishing himself off too, desperate for it even, but Liam bats his hand away almost lazily, laughing low in his throat.

“Nuh uh uh, that’s for me to do.”

Zayn shudders, glancing back at him and his flushed face. He licks his lips because, Jesus, Liam is beautiful when he’s all sexed up and rumpled. “It’s okay. I don’t mind. Just…just enjoy the aftershocks.”

“I intend to whilst I get you off too.” Liam smiles pleasantly enough but there’s that _look_ in his eyes again and it has Zayn shivering. Who knew? Who knew the sweet-faced boy could be so…hot?

His hand wraps around Zayn’s cock and he starts to tug and pull at him, rutting up from behind. He slips his other fingers inside him and hums lowly in his throat, clearly appreciative and Zayn has a good idea of what. They rock back and forth and it doesn’t take long before Zayn comes with a gasp, eyes screwing shut, Liam’s fingers crooked inside him and his lips against his neck.

“Mmmm, love that sound you make,” Liam murmurs, mouth running a line up and down his neck. It makes him shudder. “Gets me every time.”

“I—could say the same.” If Zayn seems a bit breathless with his reply, neither of them comment on it. Instead, Liam maps the length of Zayn’s back, trailing kisses in the wake of his palm.

“I missed you. I missed you so fucking much.”

“I missed you too.” Zayn turns around and sits, not trusting his shaky knees in order to stand. He smiles and reaches for Liam’s face, fingers dancing along his cheekbone. “I’m so sorry for everything that happened.”

“I’m sorry too.”

“I know.”

They lean in for a soft, soft kiss, falling into the feeling of being with one another again. The taste is sweet and familiar. Zayn smiles through it all, unaccountably happy because the boy he loves is his again and there’s no better feeling in the world, none at all. Falling for Liam had been one thing but keeping him?

It’s a whole other matter entirely.

They clean up quickly, laughing and poking and teasing one another the entire time. Zayn can’t stop smiling. He can’t stop the happiness from billowing upwards and dragging him back down. They giggle at each other and wrestle and, on the way out, when Liam reaches for his hand, Zayn laughs out loud and kisses him wildly, because he can’t believe the complete 180 his day has done.

And because he’s in love and is loved in return. There’s certainly that too.

—————————————————————————

The next three days are a whirlwind, an explosion of yellow light and smiles and so much laughing that Zayn’s belly aches from it once he’s in bed at night. He and Liam can’t seem to stop touching each other and take each and every opportunity to sneak off for a bit of hide-and-go-seek-the-tongue-in-your-mouth before, during, and after classes or practice. They smile at each other almost constantly and the other boys, initially happy, have told them to leave them alone until they’re out of their honeymoon stage because it’s disgusting to watch.

Honestly, Zayn doesn’t blame them but he doesn’t try to stop it either.

He told his mum that he and Liam had gotten back together as soon as he got home that first night and she’d hugged him and gave him a kiss and told him to invite Liam over for dinner of the weekend because she needed to meet him. He’d been overwhelmed by how calmly she had taken it and how soft her smile had been but she had told him that he was obviously happy and she needed to make acquaintances with the reason why.

That had been the topping to any already perfect day.

Perrie had sat with them the day after everything happened at football practice, bringing along her three friends. Zayn really likes Jesy, Leigh-Anne, and Jade. They are a motley of different years too and it makes it fun, having that around. Niall had certainly taken a shine to Perrie, but she just smiled his way, clearly oblivious to his attempts. The last three days, their lunch hour had been even louder and more hectic than before, but it was nice, in a way, and the other boys clearly don't have any problems making room for the new members to their group, especially when they found out how Perrie had helped Zayn.

Honestly, everything seems absolutely fucking perfect. Zayn could not have asked for more, he really couldn’t have. He has his boy, his has his best mates, and he has new friends in the making. His mum seems okay with him coming out too, which is huge, and he supposes that his sisters will need to know as well, though they already suspect because of everything that happened weeks ago. But that’s okay, everything is okay when Zayn is holding Liam’s hand because he feels brave enough to face everything.

Even James.

The only wrench in his otherwise perfect world is football. He still loves it, but he doesn’t love not being able to touch Liam as much as he wants whilst they’re there. He doesn’t love not being able to kiss his boyfriend to congratulate him on a job well done. He knows why. He remembers quite well how James has treated him last year or two and how suspicious he is. He knows how big of a homophobic arsehole the other boy is. He remembers the fight at the party, he remembers the accusations.

He just doesn’t _care_ anymore.

He came out to his family, which was the single scariest thing he’s ever done. _Ever._ Despite his fears, he’s faced nothing but love and acceptance from his mum because of it. And he knows that Liam is honest about his sexuality too and that the only reason he ever hid it was because he was worried about Zayn. He doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want the other boy to have to do that anymore because he shouldn’t have to. Zayn is _proud_ of who he is and he’s so fucking proud of who he’s dating. There’s no reason to hide that, there’s no reason to pretend like it’s not happening. He owes Liam more than that. He owes the boy with the sunshine smile and the sweet soul more than that. Losing him made him realize that and take stock of a lot of the things in his world.

And one of those things is being honest with who he is no matter where he is.

So, for the last three days, Zayn hasn’t kept his hands to himself. He hasn’t compartmentalized his life. Liam seemed shocked at first but then went with it and his smile—one of those huge kinds that make his eyes crinkle up and look like he’s on the verge of laughing—made it all worth it. So they’ve been touching and they’ve been laughing and they’ve been happy.

They’ve also gotten looks. Zayn isn’t going to pretend that they haven’t. He isn’t going to pretend that he hasn’t seen a couple of the boys snickering but he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care, _he doesn’t care._ He has someone in his life who has made him happier than anyone else and that, in and of itself, is worth anything negative that comes their way. If there’s one thing that his mates and his mum have taught him, it’s that he just needs to be himself and not worry about the rest—because the people who love him, people like Louis and Niall and Harry and his mum and his sisters and Perrie—will love him no matter what, as long as he’s honest with himself and them.

It just took something hard and painful to teach him that.

Now, here they are, the day of one of the biggest matches of his footballing career. The rest of the team is tense and their nerves are catching when they get changed out. James is hellbent when he gives his prep talk, hands shaking and eyes blazing. It certainly drives home the importance of the match for them all. It even helps Zayn to focus more, even though his and Liam’s hands are just barely brushing and that makes it harder. They leave for the pitch after they talk strategy and get a talking to by Coach, determined and ready to win.

The Cats are already there, faces grim, clearly just as determined. Zayn sizes them up, the flutterings of anxiety stirring in his stomach. Okay. So maybe the match is pretty important. Maybe he does want to win. He glances at Liam taking up his position and smiles because he knows they’re going to destroy their rivals, because there’s no way they won’t today.

The whistle blows and they’re off, the ball on the grass and twenty two boys go streaking after it, dead set on a win. The game is fast-paced and brutal from the beginning. The ball changes possession so many times that it’s a wonder anyone watching can keep track and they all battle for the upper hand, doing whatever is necessary to gain it. There’s penalties galore and their breath steams in front of their faces, evidence of just how cold it is underneath the stadium lights.

Near halftime, they’re still 0-0 when Louis gets the ball and dribbles downfield only to have it stolen just as he winds up for the kick. There’s a collective groan from the crowd but they all go bulleting down the field again, chasing after the white and black squares. Zayn can tell from even twenty meters away how pissed Louis is and makes a mental reminder to tell him it wasn’t his fault and that he still did well.

They go farther and farther down the field and Liam, playing defense, tenses, ready. The ball circles around and around as the boys from the Cats run a play. Just as the ball goes spinning toward the boy closest to the goal box, Liam comes darting in, kicking the ball back behind him and intercepting it. One of their own teammates from the Blacks grabs it and runs upfield toward the opposite goal. Zayn darts toward Liam since they’re close and gives him a hearty smack on the back, grinning like the proud boyfriend he is. His breath is fog in front of his face from his panting.

“That was fantastic, Li! They would have had it if you wouldn’t have intercepted it.”

“Thanks.” Liam grins and shrugs, ever modest. “Glad I pulled it off.”

“Me too.”

They smile at each other with happy eyes and closed lips and something overtakes Zayn. He’s so happy and relieved that everything is going well that he doesn’t even think. He just looks into Liam’s warm brown eyes and leans closer until their mouths touch in a brief, cold kiss. It lasts all of second before he sprints upfield where the action is at, but he’s grinning to himself and his palms are on fire, contrary to the freezing late fall weather.

Five minutes later, the whistle sounds and it’s halftime, the score still tied at 0-0.

Zayn jogs over to the sidelines and meets Liam halfway there. They bump hips companionably and grin at each other, coming to a stop next to their teammates with their arms thrown around each other’s shoulders. The game has been stressful and hard-pressed but Zayn feels himself settling down as he catches the water Niall tosses to him and downs a huge swallow or five before he passes it to Liam, who wiggles his eyebrows as he takes it. Zayn smothers a laugh and moves even closer in an effort to leech some heat off of Liam because, _fuck_ , it is cold.

From the front of the huddle, James watches the entirety of the team with slitted eyes. Coach Ganger stands at his side, arms crossed over his chest and breath misting. He launches into a tirade about how they need to clean it up and play smarter, not harder, but Zayn tunes out because Liam is ever so lightly brushing the back of his neck with his fingertips and it feels really, really nice, especially since Liam’s hands are so warm. Football seems to pale in significance in comparison.

After their coach finishes, James steps up and adds his own thoughts to their performance, looking very pointedly at Liam and Zayn every time he says the word “focus.” They don’t care, or even notice for the most part, too wrapped up in each other to take note of it. Liam just shrugs and Zayn covers a laugh and they continue on, fingers tracing over vertebrae and hairlines as they lightly trace each other’s necks.

Louis finishes the round of pep talks up, yelling at them all and getting them fired up to go back out and kick football arse like only he can do. The pint-sized Viking, not that Zayn will ever tell him of the nickname that most of the team has for him. They cheer, hollering like the almost-men they are, and race back onto the field, pumped up and ready to go. Niall grins at them like a maniac before he takes off and, for their part, Zayn and Liam quickly grasp hands for good luck before separating. They’re just about to jog back to their respective positions when James bears down of them as ominously as thunderclouds in April and his eyes just as dark. They both stop, expecting to be reprimanded for not paying attention to all the little team speeches and grimace at each other before the other boy gets there.

“What do you think you’re doing?” James demands. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Ehm, going out to play football?” Liam responds. Zayn just barely contains the urge to laugh because, Jesus, what a way to be Captain Obvious.

“I _meant_ what were you doing during team huddle just now?”

“Listen, I’m sorry we weren’t paying attention,” Zayn tries to explain quickly. He can tell that James is a bomb about to blow and doesn’t want it happening, especially right now. He’s seen it happen before and they really can’t afford it at the moment. “We’re just really keyed up and excited to play.”

“Are you sure that’s what it was?” James practically sneers, leaning closer to get into their faces.

Zayn frowns and tips backward, a little perturbed and more than a little confused. “Yeah? That’s what it was.”

“Honest,” Liam adds in. “We just wanna win this match.”

“It seemed to me that the two of you were having a problem keeping your hands to yourselves more than you did paying attention.”

Zayn and Liam are both quiet.

Zayn is too shocked to say anything, his happy bubble of the last three days about to be punctured because of the biggest dick he’s ever known. He glares at the co-captain, tipping past mad into area of enraged. How dare he? How dare he ruin this? Zayn sneaks a glance at Liam but he, too, seems too surprised to say anything, though his ears and neck are flushed with heat. Zayn can feel his affront and it only adds to his own, making for a toxic mix.

“What’s going on here?” Louis jogs up and flips the hair out of his eyes, oblivious to the tension he’s walking into. Sometimes he does it intentionally, Zayn knows, but this time it’s clear that he has no idea what’s happening.

He almost feels bad for him, except that Louis can tear anyone down to size in the span of five minutes, whether it was him being insulted or no.

“Nothing,” James spits. “Just you rescuing the little boyfriends again.”

“Excuse me?” Liam demands.

“Sorry?” Louis frowns, swinging closer to Zayn and Liam’s sides.

Zayn just stays quiet, jaw clenched, glaring at James, wishing he could incinerate him on the spot right there. He wishes he could make the boy disappear in a cloud of ash and smoke because he’s being rude and is insulting not only him but Liam again. And this time…this time he isn’t going to stand for it.

“You here to save these two like you did at that party?” James scowls, chin jerking at Liam and Zayn. “You going to try and pretend like they’re mates now when they’ve been touching each other every chance they get the last three days?”

Zayn flushes but stays silent, trying to wrest his temper into check because he’s pretty sure that decking your co-captain right before the second half of a match probably isn’t the best thing to do.

No matter how tempted he is to do it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Louis begins but Zayn stops him with a hand to the arm. 

He meets James’ eyes and steps forward, chin raised as if daring him to hit him. He’d relish it, he would, but now isn’t the time. Unfortunately. 

“Shut the fuck up,” he murmurs quietly, still trying desperately to stop himself from hitting the homophobic bastard in the face.

“ _Excuse me?_ ”

“I said shut the fuck up. I’m tired of getting hassled all the time over Liam and me. You want to know something? We _are_ together. We’re together and we’re happy and I’m tired of a _twat_ like you trying to get in the way of that.”

“It’s wr—”

“I am _happy_ ,” Zayn interrupts and throws up his arms, voice increasing in volume too. He so rarely actually _yells_ , but the floodgates have been opened and he will not be stopped. “Why is it such a big deal who’s making me so happy? I’m in love with Liam and it’s not going to change. You’re my _friend._ Why can’t that be enough for you?”

James stares, mouth working silently, his eyebrows all confusion. “Because, Zayn, I don’t want anyone calling you a fag. I don’t want—”

“The only person doing it here is you,” Louis points out snidely. “The rest of us—the rest of their _real_ mates—couldn’t give a shit. Seriously, what the fuck is your problem with them?”

“I—”

“I’m tired of hiding it,” Zayn barrels on. “I’m tired of acting like it’s not happening. I love him, okay? That’s just something you’re going to have to deal with.”

On Liam’s other side, Niall comes jogging up, interrupting without knowing what he’s stepping into, an eyebrow quirked. “Ehm—what’s going on here, lads? Aren’t we meant to be playing football?”

“Yes, we are, Niall.” Louis tosses his fellow co-captain an icy look. “We were just setting dear old James here right on a couple of things.”

“Like what?”

“Like me and Zayn.” Liam looks at Niall and it isn’t until then that Zayn notices the slightly shocked look on his face. He remember vividly the party they’d had weeks ago when James had accused them of being together and he’d just stood there, silent, letting Liam explain it all away. He hopes that this has made up for that. He hopes that this has proved how serious he is about them being together again. “Zayn just told him to bugger off and leave me and him alone because we’re together.”

“Sounds about right to me.” Niall shrugs, unfazed as always. Zayn wonders where he gets such huge amounts of inner piece from because, surely, wanking isn’t going to get you to it. “Who cares if you guys are boning each other? It means you’re not cranky and I have less competition for the birds.”

“Exactly.” Louis turns back to James with the thinnest smile that Zayn has ever seen. “That’s exactly what it means.”

“We’re not going away,” Liam tosses in. “We’re not going to stop being who we are just because other people don’t like it.”

“No, no we’re not,” Zayn agrees.

Niall laughs. “All of this is really cool and all, but can we get back to the football now? I really want to kick some of these pussies’ arses.”

“Yeah, let’s go.” Zayn smiles at the blonde boy and turns around, grabbing Liam’s hand defiantly. In the stands, he can see Harry waving like a nutcase and waves back, still holding tight to his boyfriend. He dares anyone else to say anything and dares everyone else to look. He’s past the point of caring what anyone else thinks.

“Haz looks like he’s about to fall over.”

“Probably is because he doesn’t know what’s going on.”

“Suppose we’ll have to tell him after then.”

“Reckon so.”

Zayn smiles at Liam and gives his fingers a squeeze before they go off to take up their positions. He feels slightly giddy from the last two minutes and wonders if it really happened. He wonders if he actually just told someone he thought was a mate to bugger off. He thinks that he did, judging by the way his stomach feels wonky and kind of happy all at once.

“I’m going to kiss you bloody senseless if we win this.”

“Right back atcha.”

They both laugh and then squeeze hands again before they finally leave each other. Zayn jogs over to his spot, unable to keep from grinning. He doesn’t give a shit if it makes the opposing team think he’s weak. He could never be weak, not when he has amazing mates and an equally great boyfriend on his side. He knows now that, whatever comes, he can handle it because he has them. He has love and he has family and he has people who will be in his life forever. It’s what truly matters. Winning this football match would be brilliant but, at the end of the day, it pales in significance to everything else.

He just has other things on his mind. He has pizza to look forward to with his best mates, all four of them, win or lose after this. He has a boyfriend who’s the kindest person he knows to keep his hand warm in the chilly air and also keep him on his toes. He gets to introduce his boy to his family this weekend and, while he’s nervous, he can only hope that they love him as much as he does. He thinks it’s kind of impossible, but they can try. All he wants from them is the same acceptance he’s gotten—nothing more and nothing less.

Right before the whistle blows and the second half begins, Zayn swears he’s so happy that he could scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone for sticking around for this story, especially because I planned on being done with it much sooner than this. I hope that it has lived up to your expectations and maybe made you laugh a few times. That's the goal. I need to thank Sonya, Kim, Jess, Ashley, and so many other friends for reading through each and every draft of this entire behemoth of a thing and cheering me on, especially towards the end. Sonya especially, because she got email after email after email of revisions and ideas and had to deal with me whining.
> 
> I loved writing this. I loved being able to create this little world and hope that, while you were in it, you loved it too. I'm sorry to see it go, because I loved it a lot.
> 
> Thanks for sticking around if you'd been here since this was a WIP. You're the best. You helped rally me to the end too, especially when you told me that you were upset that it wasn't finished yet. I hope it ended well for you. xx


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